Guilt
by aviddaydreamer
Summary: The war is over, and the guilty must be punished. Draco awaits his trial, but finds an unexpected ally in a childhood nemesis. Canon compliant until DH Epilogue. Rated M for language and lemons.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Tragically, I am not J.K. Rowling, nor do I own any of her fabulous creations.

Prologue: Victory and Defeat

There are moments in time that pass by and fade away, as inconsequential as snowflakes--often beautiful, each unique unto itself, but ultimately meaningless. Brief. Unimportant. This, thought Draco Malfoy, was not one of those moments.

The Great Hall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry simply buzzed with the joy, the celebration, the complete and absolute _rightness_ of the dawn. He'd done it. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Gryffindor Golden Boy Extraordinaire, had actually defeated Lord Voldemort. Relief and gratitude was written on every face in the hall—although often mingled with shock or grief.

The crowd assembled for the post-battle celebration was, well…diverse. The centaurs of the Forbidden Forest rested and dined alongside House Elves from the school kitchens, students still in dress robes, and some of the most prominent and illustrious wizards in Britain. Despite their many obvious differences, this morning they were one; united by their victory.

In fact, of the many gathered there that day, only three remained isolated. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy huddled on either side of their only son, outsiders to the joy that filled the room. They were as freed by Voldemort's defeat as any present, yet this victory was not theirs to share.

Lucius was tense as a bow, expecting at any moment for the joyous occasion to turn into a lynching, with his family at the focus. Narcissa's cold hands clasped desperately onto Draco's robes, terrified of losing him as so many mother's had lost beloved sons that night.

Draco simply sat very still, silently observing the jubilation. His eyes sought out familiar faces in the crowd: unexpectedly valiant classmates like Loony Lovegood and Neville Longbottom; wizened Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout; an absurd number of flame-haired Weasleys, all uncharacteristically stoic; and, of course, the Golden Trio. They each looked half-dead; bloodied and bruised and quite clearly exhausted. Their crowd of admirers seemed oblivious to their fatigue and continued clasping hands, hugging, kissing, and crying--despite the objects of their appreciation looking ready to collapse at any moment. He watched as Lovegood spoke softly to Potter and then distracted those around her as he made a stealthy retreat, pulling Weasley and Granger out the wide double doors with him.

With the trio gone from the hall, Draco's mind wandered back to his own reality. He turned to regard each of his parents in turn. Without saying a word, he asked the silent question that had his stomach churning and his head spinning; _What happens now?_

**A/N: This is my first attempt at writing fanfiction; your brutal honesty would be most appreciated. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter One: Detained

Disclaimer: I'm still not J.K. Rowling. I still don't own Harry Potter. It still keeps me up at night, feeling sorry for myself and reading (and apparently writing) fanfiction.

Chapter One: Detained

On the fourth day after the battle, Hermione stretched herself awake between soft sheets, gingerly testing her body to assess her lingering injuries. Grimmauld Place was quiet, but for the muffled sounds of breakfast being prepared downstairs. She and Harry had decided to rest and recuperate in the quiet of the ancient townhouse, leaving the Weasleys some space to find solace in one another. Ron and Ginny would most likely appear sometime after breakfast, as they had each morning since their return from Hogwarts.

Hogwarts. Hermione wondered if she would ever hear or even think that name again without seeing the faces of all those lost in the final battle. They flashed to the forefront of her mind, now: Lupin, Tonks, Colin…Fred. That last image pulled at her heart until her chest ached and burned with a physical pain. She loved the Weasley family completely, and very much doubted that she would ever forget the image of Molly weeping over her son's body laid out on the floor of the Great Hall. And Ron. She desperately wished she could take this pain from him; make him smile, make him forget. She dried her wet cheeks and pulled herself out of bed, reminding herself once again that it was no use agonizing over this every second of the day. She simply couldn't bear it.

While dressing for the day, Hermione considered the emotional aftermath of the battle. She'd expected to feel so much...joy, relief, hope and comfort. Instead, she felt oddly empty. Lost. They'd lost so much; not just the many precious lives cut short on the battle field, but any chance at a happy childhood. They'd left childhood behind some time ago. Their real loss was a loss of innocence.

Shaking herself, once again, from her silent contemplation of things both unfair and unchangeable, Hermione headed down to breakfast.

Harry was seated alone at the massive kitchen table, staring blankly at his plate of eggs and sausage. Kreacher wordlessly ushered Hermione into the seat next to Harry, placing a steaming cup of tea on the table before turning to fix her a plate. Hermione regarded the old elf fondly, and thanked him. She had been relieved to find him mostly unscathed after the attack he led during the battle, rousing the Hogwarts elves into action against the Death Eaters. Kreacher seemed to welcome the opportunity to care for Harry again, and saw to both his and Hermione's needs meticulously.

Harry came out of his trance with a slight start, noticing Hermione for the first time. "Morning," he offered as a belated greeting, along with an apologetic smile.

Hermione smiled back before taking his hand in hers and giving it a gentle squeeze. They ate in companionable silence until the whoosh of the floo signaled the arrival of the youngest Weasleys.

Ginny moved immediately to Harry's side, with a soft "G'morning Hermione, Harry, Kreacher." Harry pulled her down into his lap, kissing her cheek in greeting. Ginny acquiesced to his ministrations, curling her body into his and laying her head against his shoulder.

Ron sat awkwardly beside Hermione without a word, and she felt briefly envious of the ease of Harry and Ginny's relationship. Since the battle, things with Ron had been strained. They were both feeling so much, but neither sought comfort in the other. Hermione felt confused about everything, but decided it was not the time to sort out those particular feelings. There were too many other, more demanding emotions to be dealt with. She sent him a small smile while Kreacher offered drinks to the new arrivals.

Ron tossed a copy of the Daily Prophet onto the table with a world-weary sigh. "It never ends, does it?"

The front-page article was about preparations for the impending trials of several prominent Death Eaters. Featured in the accompanying picture were all three Malfoys. The picture had obviously been recycled; the family was dressed immaculately, all blond hair and arrogance. This family hardly resembled the three as they had been after the final battle. Hermione studied the article, curious about the fates of her former tormentors.

It seemed the Death Eaters were being detained in special cells within the Ministry itself, while Azkaban was being sorted out in the absence of the dementors. Controlling the wizarding prison would be difficult without them, but acting Minister Shacklebolt was determined to sever all Ministry ties to the vile beings. It was a difficult, but certainly worthwhile task.

The article contained a tentative schedule of the upcoming trials, and Hermione suddenly understood the chosen photo. The first trial held would be for Lucius Malfoy, followed by Narcissa's, and then Draco's. She supposed it made sense; it would be easier to research a case for or against the family all at once, instead of spreading them out. The slotted date for Lucius's trial was barely two weeks away.

While Harry, Ginny and Ron began a conversation about the approaching quidditch season, Hermione couldn't take her mind off the article—not that quidditch had ever been much of a distraction for her. Her eyes wandered back to the haughty form of Draco Malfoy on the cover page, and the question of guilt worked its way into her brain. This…this _boy _had done some truly atrocious things, hadn't he? There was his attempted assassination of Dumbledore, but of course Harry had been sure Draco wouldn't have gone through with it. He _had _refused to identify her, Ron and Harry when they were brought to Malfoy manor by the snatchers, but why did he do that, anyway? He then later waylaid them in the room of requirement as they sought Ravenclaw's diadem, but…he hadn't actually tried to curse any of them. He even tried to stop Crab from attacking Harry, but surely only because Voldemort wanted to finish him personally. She just wasn't sure about anything; she still had so many unanswered questions. She took a moment to ponder why she even cared, but quickly justified her curiosity. She had, after all, known Draco Malfoy since she was eleven years old; and besides, she's Hermione bloody Granger, caring is _what she does_. Not to mention the fact that she never settled for ignorance on any issue when answers were available.

Suddenly resolved on her next course of action, Hermione abruptly stood up from the table, kissed her three best friends goodbye, and purposefully strode from the kitchen.

Ron shot Harry a puzzled look, to which he replied with a shrug before continuing the debate over the league's best seeker.

***

Deep in the bowels of the Ministry, a single dingy lamp sprang into life in a cramped, dirty room, causing the sole occupant to jerk awake with a strangled gasp. Draco curled in on himself, tensing for a blow. When none came, he tentatively raised his head to look around him at the same four blank stone walls he'd been staring at since his arrival. The only things in the room besides himself were the filthy blanket he was huddled under and the previously unlit lamp hanging from the ceiling. Nothing seemed to have changed, except for the lighting of said lamp. He'd been kept in the dark for who knows how long, the blackness interrupted only by the arrival of guards bringing food and, more often than not, a sound beating. But here he was, in the light. No guards, no food, no beating. He had only a moment to ponder this before he heard footsteps echoing down the rough stone passage. He rolled stiffly into a sitting position on the cold floor, tucking his knees into his chest with his head down enough to appear submissive, but high enough to watch the door through his matted hair. Merlin, he wanted a bath.

The footsteps halted just outside his cell, and Draco could hear unintelligible conversation through the heavy wood for a moment. Finally, the bolts were drawn back and the door swung open to reveal a solitary, back-lit figure, slight and decidedly female. Draco raised his head a fraction of an inch with cautious curiosity, as Hermione Granger stepped purposefully into the room, shutting the door behind her.


	3. Chapter Two: Hope for the Hopeless

Disclaimer: I bow to the formidable talents of J.K. Rowling, who owns this fascinating little world that I so love to play in.

Chapter Two: Hope for the Hopeless

The lift came to a smooth stop, and the calm, female voice reported "Level 9, Department of Mysteries." The doors opened on a familiar hallway. The passage to the left led to the courtrooms where Hermione had sat beside Dolores Umbridge as she presided over the muggleborn interrogation committee. Straight ahead lay the Department of Mysteries itself. Hermione fought to keep her head through the onslaught of memories _that _place brought on. She simply didn't have time for an emotional breakdown.

The auror guiding Hermione directed her to the right, down a passage similar to the one leading to the courtrooms on the opposite side of the lift. The walls were rough, unpolished stone, with enchanted torches burning brightly between each doorway. They passed countless dark, wooden doors, concealing the cells of every captured Death Eater in the country. At this thought, Hermione's footsteps faltered slightly, but she quickly righted herself and moved to catch up to her guide. He stopped in front of a door as unremarkable as the dozens of others around it, and turned to assess her with a slightly suspicious look.

"Are you sure about this, Miss Granger?" He asked cautiously, with what Hermione guessed to be genuine concern, although it was hard to detect in the gravelly voice.

She straightened her shoulders with only a touch of defiance as she replied, "Of course. I want to go in alone, but thank you for showing me down." Her tone left no room for discussion, and the auror recognized his dismissal. He nodded once before throwing back the heavy bolt and opening the door for her.

Hermione stepped inside the shockingly small space, closing the door behind her. She looked around the cramped cell, taking in the single, dingy lamp, filthy floor, blank stone walls, and ragged, dirty blanket before settling her gaze on the hunched form of Draco Malfoy. She hadn't thought much about the conditions the prisoners would be kept in, but if she had, she certainly wouldn't have imagined _this._

Draco sat against the wall opposite the door, legs pulled up to his chest with his arms wrapped close around them. His filthy hair mostly concealed his down-turned face, but she could just make out gray eyes staring at her in shock and fear. Fear? As she tried to make sense of his reaction, she finally noticed the blood and bruises on his exposed arms and neck. In the dim light, the grayish garb he wore looked to be spotted and in places soaked through with dark, dried blood. Hermione felt anger course through her, quickly followed by nausea. It suddenly didn't matter to her that this was the boy who had tormented her at school, or even that his arm was most likely branded with Voldemort's mark. He was, first and foremost, a _human being_, and she was disgusted by the treatment he'd received from the people who were supposed to be representing the Light.

Draco watched Hermione's face harden with unmistakable anger and clutched himself a little tighter in anticipation for whatever revenge she had planned.

Hermione noticed Draco's reaction and started trying to get a hold of herself. She was here for a reason. She needed answers, and she certainly wasn't going to get any if he was too terrified to speak to her. She wiped furiously at a tear that was rolling down her cheek and took a deep, calming breath. Draco looked more confused than ever, but did not relax his tense hold on himself. Hermione needed to say something, but suddenly had no idea how to start.

"Malfoy," she began in a soft voice, "are you okay?"

Draco looked at her as though she'd grown a second head. Hermione let out a sigh, and then lowered herself to sit across from him on the cold floor.

Draco finally spoke, and his voice was rough and strained. "Granger, what are you…how did you get in here?"

She smiled wryly at him. "Being Hermione Granger has to have _some _benefits, you know." It doesn't hurt to be friends with the Minister of Magic, either.

Draco's lips curved into a half-smirk at her response, before sliding back into the look of sheer puzzlement he'd worn since she first spoke. "But, _why _are you here?"

"There are things I don't understand; questions I want answers to." She paused before adding with a grin, "because I'm an insufferable know-it-all."

Draco actually let out a small laugh at the memory of his favorite professor's words, until he remembered where Severus Snape was or, more importantly, where he wasn't. He closed his eyes and nodded.

He seemed to accept her explanation, so Hermione went on. "I know you've a trial coming up." He nodded once more in response. "How are you going to plea?"

Draco opened his eyes to connect with hers once again. "You ask that like I've got a choice."

"Of course you'll have a choice! The charges against you will be read, and you'll be expected to plead guilty or innocent." This statement earned her a sort of patronizing smirk from Draco.

He responded by reaching his left arm out to her, palm up. The Dark Mark was visible beneath a thin layer of mingled dirt, sweat and blood.

Hermione blanched at the sight. She'd speculated that he had taken the mark, but actually seeing it was more disturbing than she'd imagined. Her voice was a bit weaker when she spoke again. "All that proves is that you're guilty of taking the Dark Mark. It's what you may have done after that would earn a conviction."

Draco tucked his arm back around his legs and looked away when he responded. "_He _had me torture people. I used an unforgiveable."

"Yes, and so did half of Hogwarts under the Carrows' instruction."

Draco looked back at her with eyes narrowed in concentration. "I tried to kill Dumbledore."

"You had the opportunity. You could have done it, but you didn't." She said this last statement with barely concealed curiosity.

Draco's frustration was growing. "I fought _against_ your side in the final battle."

"If I remember correctly, you didn't do much fighting at all. You even protected Harry from Crabbe." Her smirk was returning in the face of Draco's obvious irritation.

Draco snapped. "What do you want me to say, Granger?! You want me to tell you what a complete bloody _coward_ I am; that I couldn't even finish off a weak, unarmed, old man?! You want to hear how much I _hated_ the Dark Lord and the things he made me do?!" Draco's pale face was flooded with color and his voice was hoarse and cracking with every yell. "What sodding difference will it make?! Do you really think anyone gives a shite about Draco fucking Malfoy?!"

"Yes." Hermione's voice was calm, her face smooth.

Draco's consternation quieted his shouts. He eyed Hermione in curiosity and confusion. "Why are you here?"

Hermione simply sighed as she pushed herself off the floor. She turned to the door just as Draco let out a strangled plea, "Granger?" She turned back to regard the frightened boy huddled on the floor.

"Do me a favor?" She asked, and he tilted his head to the side, waiting. "Don't resign yourself just yet."

Draco's eyes widened a bit, and he swallowed down his questions before nodding his head once.

Hermione opened the cell door and nodded to the waiting auror. When the door was bolted shut once again, she started forward down the sinister corridor. The auror followed her a few steps before asking if she needed help getting back to the atrium. Hermione didn't feel like telling this stranger about her previous forays into this part of the ministry, so she simply shook her head and left him behind on her way to the lift.

After turning a few corners, putting herself out of sight and earshot of anyone working guard duty, Hermione slumped against the wall and let herself go over her encounter with Draco.

Damn it, she didn't _like_ Draco Malfoy; she never had. At one time, she might have even hated him. But she knew, she _knew_ he didn't deserve to be in there. Nor did he deserve to spend the rest of his life in Azkaban. He was a selfish, heartless _coward,_ but he wasn't evil. He was practically born into the Death Eaters; raised on pureblood bullshit and the false ideals of wizard domination. But he had been nearly right about one thing; almost no one would give a shite about what happened to him. Almost.

"Damn." Hermione shook her head and started for the lift again. She knew exactly what she had to do, and she really, _really _didn't want to do it.

***

A second after the bolt slammed home, the meager light in Draco's cell snuffed out. He sat in complete darkness, staring at the place Hermione had occupied a moment before. He didn't even realize he was crying until the tears dripped off his chin and splashed against his knee. He scrubbed ferociously at his traitorous eyes, willing himself to stop acting like a damned _girl_ and use his head. This would be the perfect time for his Slytherin cunning to kick into gear. Unfortunately, allowing oneself to be broken seemed to diminish one's capacity for scheming.

And Draco was broken. Quite thoroughly, in fact. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. There was really very little of his old self left after everything that he'd been through; first with his father's initial imprisonment, then the Dark Lord's impossible assignment, followed by the absolute _horror _of the last year, and finally his own imprisonment in this shithole.

The truth was, he'd given up all hope for himself ages ago; sometime during his attempted assassination, actually. He knew his life was over, through one means or another. He could live as the Dark Lord's pathetic minion, doing as he was told and never thinking for himself on anything, or the Dark Lord would be overthrown and Draco would be unceremoniously tossed into Azkaban. These had been his options, and he was resigned to them.

And now _Granger,_ of all people, was offering him an ambiguous ray of hope. He couldn't fathom what she meant by it, or what she possibly expected to happen, but she certainly seemed to think another future was possible for Draco Malfoy. Why she was even bothered at all was completely beyond him. People like her, kind, compassionate people, always confused the hell out of Draco.

He shook himself out of his thoughts with a metaphorical slap to the face. The girl was a hopeless optimist, was she not? She couldn't understand the harsh realities he was facing. She didn't know something Draco hadn't thought of, she didn't hold the secret to a happy and impossible future for him, she was just naïve. Draco told himself this very sternly, again and again. Granger was wrong; there was no hope for him. He could not afford hope. One thing Draco knew, in a way that silly girl could never know, was the power hope had to break a man.

**A/N: Actual dialogue! Not a lot, but it was there, regardless. Thank you for the reviews; I cherish them all.**


	4. Chapter Three: A Matter of Conscience

Disclaimer: I bow to the formidable talents of J.K. Rowling, who owns this fascinating little world that I so love to play in.

Chapter Three: A Matter of Conscience

Despite the privileged treatment she received regarding that morning's activities, Hermione was still relatively surprised at how easily she was granted a meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt. She was sure he must have pushed back an appointment with someone far more important in order to speak with her, and she felt a moment of hesitation about taking up his valuable time, but quickly brushed it off as she walked into his impressive office.

Kingsley regarded Hermione warmly and gestured to a chair in front of his massive desk. "Hermione, come in, please. I trust you were able to see Malfoy without trouble, then?"

"Yes, thank you. I do appreciate you making time for me. I had no trouble getting in to see Malfoy, this morning. That's actually what I wanted to see you about. Have you been to the prisoner's quarters?"

Kingsley shook his head, "No, not personally. Why do you ask?"

Hermione was relieved to hear he didn't know about the conditions. She liked and respected Kingsley Shacklebolt, and didn't want to believe he'd condone such treatment.

"The cells are completely bare; the prisoners have nothing to sit or sleep on and no apparent means of, um…performing certain necessary bodily functions, nor any way of washing." Hermione hadn't thought about the conspicuous lack of loo access until she was on her way to see Kingsley, at which point she wondered how it could have escaped her notice. She supposed someone was responsible for vanishing the prisoners' messes periodically. The thought made her ill.

Kingsley lifted his brows in surprise. "No cots or toilets or anything?" Hermione shook her head.

"Also, Minister" she continued, "Malfoy looked to have been badly beaten fairly recently. His wounds were left untreated." She tried to keep the anger out of her voice, and was almost successful.

"First off, Hermione, call me Kingsley, please." He looked to her and she nodded. "Perhaps I was mistaken in trusting the handling of this situation to the aurors; too many old grudges exist. I assure you I was not aware of any of this, and you have my word that I _will_ see it corrected."

Hermione could feel some of the tension leave her body. "Thank you, Kingsley; I knew you would want to do better than this. I've actually wanted to tell you how happy I've been with the job you've been doing. Oh, I hope that doesn't sound condescending!"

Kingsley just laughed it off. "Not at all, Hermione. Your approval means a lot to me; I hope _you _know how much I respect you and appreciate everything you've done for the wizarding world."

Hermione blushed scarlet at his words and smiled timidly. "Well, I know you must be horribly busy, but I have just one more favor to ask." He nodded for her to continue, and she took a brief moment to test her resolve before finishing her statement. "I wondered if I might have the contact information for Draco Malfoy's legal counsel."

Whatever Kingsley was expecting, it wasn't that. "Oh?"

"Yes, I'd rather like the opportunity to testify at his trial…on his behalf."

He still looked shocked, but made a note before replying "Of course. I don't have that information on hand, but I'll have an assistant find it and send you an owl."

Hermione let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank you so much. I'll just let you get back to your day, then."

As she stood up to leave, Kingsley asked her the question she was dreading. "Hermione, why are you doing this?"

It was the same question Draco had asked, and she felt just as unprepared to answer it now as she did earlier. "I don't really know. I suppose it's a matter of conscience. He doesn't belong in prison, Kingsley."

He simply nodded, seeming to accept her reasoning. "Take care, Hermione."

"You too, and thanks again." She sent him a grateful smile before leaving the office. She _felt_ grateful; not just for his attention to the situation with the prisoners, although she felt extremely relieved that someone with power and influence was not only aware of the problem, but planned to correct it, but also for his acceptance of her decision to help Malfoy. She only hoped everyone would be as accepting. With that in mind, she made her way up to the atrium. She needed to tell Harry, Ron and Ginny what she was going to do, and it wasn't going to be easy.

After finally making her way through the throngs of grateful admirers crowding the atrium, she made it out of the ministry and into an empty alley so she could apparate in private. This whole 'hero' bit certainly had its perks, but crowds of strangers wanting to shake her hand everywhere she went certainly did not qualify as such. She had a feeling she'd be living the life of a hermit until all of the excitement died down. Clearing her mind, she focused on the grassy square in front of Number 12, closed her eyes, and turned on the spot.

She spent the next five minutes staring at the door, mentally rehearsing a defense of her actions. Of course, a defense was only useful when the other party involved was willing to listen to reason, which was certainly not always the case with her friends.

"Oh, sod it." She tapped her wand against the door and went inside quietly, careful not to disturb the portrait of Walburga Black.

She could hear Harry's voice coming from the first floor drawing room, so she decided to be brave and get this whole business over with so she could maybe even enjoy the rest of the day. As she neared the open door, she caught bits of the ongoing conversation.

"Yes, Ron, Douglas is a fair keeper, but it hardly matters when the Canon's chasers are averaging 5 goals a _game_ and their seeker has the reflexes of a drunk mountain troll." Ginny's comment earned a snort of laughter from Harry and an indignant yell from Ron.

Merlin's beard, are they _still_ talking about bloody quidditch?! Hermione would never understand her friends' fascination with the sport. She entered the room in time to interrupt what promised to be a livid retort from Ron about the virtues of the Chudley Canons.

"Wotcher, Hermione, where have you been all day?" Ginny eyed Hermione suspiciously, while Ron tried unsuccessfully to lower his blood pressure to a healthy level.

Hermione took a deep breath, braced herself, and threw caution to the wind. "I went to the ministry to speak to Draco Malfoy."

Three sets of eyes widened in shock. Ron was the first to break the silence. "What the bloody hell did you want to see that git for?"

Hermione felt her anger rise in response to his accusatory tone. "He has a trial coming up soon. I wanted to know what he was going to do; how he would plea and all."

Harry looked mildly puzzled, but certainly not angry. "Oh, yeah? What did he say?"

Ron scoffed and added "Yeah, is he going to plead 'guilty' or 'very guilty'?"

"I expect, Ronald, that he'll plead innocence. It's not like he actually did anything of his own volition." Hermione tried not to let her temper get away from her, but Ron's tone was just so damned condescending!

While Ron sputtered angrily, Ginny voiced a thought. "Do you think that'll be enough to get him off, though? I mean, it's not like he was impiriused."

"What do you mean, 'get him off'?! No way is that slimy little ferret getting away after everything he's done!"

Sensing impending bloodshed, Harry tried to interject. "Ron, I don't think…"

"What, Harry? You don't think Malfoy deserves to be punished?! He's a _Death Eater, _Harry! The whole lot of 'em can go straight to hell and it'd be no worse than they deserve!"

"I didn't say that, Ron, just calm down." Harry obviously didn't want to fight. He'd been avoiding any and all confrontation since the battle, just trying to live in peace for a while, but Ron wasn't having it.

Ron's face was redder than his hair by now, and he paced furiously across the room, jerking his arms and legs spasmodically. "These _people,_ no, not people, these _things_, they murdered hundreds of people! Innocent people, _dead_! My _brother, _my bloody _brother_ killed by their hands and _she's _worried about fair trials and due process!" He was screaming now, pointing across the room to where Hermione stood, pale and motionless.

"Draco never murdered anyone, Ron" she replied in a dangerously quiet voice.

"_Draco? _So it's _Draco, _now, is it?! Just what the hell is really going on here, Hermione?!"

She continued in that same voice; soft with simmering anger threatening to boil over. "You're upset. It's understandable; we all are. We _all_ miss him, Ron…"

"Ha! You don't _miss _him; you couldn't _stand_ him! You hated him because he was funny and popular and actually _fun_ to be around, all the things you could _never_ be…" Ron was truly manic now, pulling at his hair and gasping for breath, with unheeded tears streaming down his cheeks. All of his repressed grief and frustration was pouring out of him disguised as anger, and he was powerless to stop it.

Hermione recoiled, paralyzed with shock for a brief moment before marching straight forward and slapping Ron hard across his wet cheek. "How _dare _you!" Her own tears came pouring down her face, but she paid them no mind. She simply stared at Ron's stunned face. When he started to speak she pulled her hand back and brought it down again, even harder than before.

Harry and Ginny had watched the exchange in frozen disbelief, but Hermione's second strike woke them up and into action. Ginny wrapped her arms around Hermione and towed her from the room, while Harry stood between them and Ron to make sure he didn't lose it again.

Ron looked to Harry wearing an expression of horror for the things he'd said. "Harry, I…"

Harry just shook his head, fighting back his own tears. "I know, Ron. Just…don't. Not now."

Hermione's sobs could be heard as the girls made their way upstairs. When the room was quiet, Ron slumped to the floor with his head in his hands and finally allowed his grief to take him under completely. Harry sat with his arms around Ron's shaking shoulders, feeling more powerless and useless than he ever had before. He could save the world, but he couldn't take away this hurt.

***

For the second time since his arrival at the ministry, the lamp in Draco's cell flickered on. He waited anxiously, expecting Hermione to come striding through his door again. Moments later, he heard footsteps; lots of them. Something seemed be going on down the hallway, and the commotion was moving steadily closer to his door.

Finally, the bolt slid back and the door opened on two aurors and a man wearing the navy blue of the ministry's magical maintenance workers. Without speaking to Draco, the maintenance worker placed two small objects in the corner of the room, waved his wand and transfigured a toilet and a small sink. He then placed another object, which Draco now noticed had been retrieved from a bag hanging from his belt, next to the far wall, and then transfigured it into a small cot, complete with clean blankets and a pillow. Having finished, the three men turned and left without a word, closing and locking the door behind them.

Draco stared in shock at the additions to his room. He recalled the image of Hermione Granger, angrily wiping a stray tear from her face while she took in his shabby quarters. He sat down on his newly acquired bed, feeling an unfamiliar pull in his chest. In another hour, Draco was visited by a doctor, who healed all evidence of the beatings he'd received and administered a potion to clear up the cold he'd gotten from laying on the frigid floor. His dinner that evening was brought to him with a fresh set of grey prison clothes.

When he laid himself down that night, his thoughts were filled with bushy brown hair and sympathetic eyes. His lamp did not snuff out again.


	5. Chapter Four: Needs

Disclaimer: I bow to the formidable talents of J.K. Rowling, who owns this fascinating little world that I so love to play in.

Chapter Four: Needs

Hermione lay in her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her head ached from spending the evening crying. Of course, skipping lunch _and_ dinner might not have been a good plan, either. She was contemplating a late-night kitchen raid when she heard a knock at the door.

"Hermione, can I come in?" Ron's voice sounded hoarse and unsure.

Hermione sat up and flicked her wand, opening the door with a soft click.

Ron cast her a sheepish look before sitting next to her on the bed. A moment of awkward silence passed before Ron blurted, with his usual eloquence and suavity, "I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean it."

Hermione sighed and slumped back against the headboard. "I know."

"Are you still mad?"

Hermione spent a moment musing over Ron Weasley in all his emotionally stunted glory. She had no doubts whatsoever about his character. She knew him well, knew what a genuinely good person he really was. She also knew how un-analytical and thoughtless he could be, and subsequently, how easily this thoughtlessness could turn him into a raving jackass whenever he was under emotional stress. She'd seen it many times before.

"I'm not mad, Ron. I understand how difficult this has been for you, but you need to understand that you're not the only one having a hard time. It's been hard on all of us. I thought things would be so much simpler once Voldemort was gone, that we could just _be_ for a while..."

"That's all I want." Ron turned his big blue puppy dog eyes on her now.

"You know I care about you, Ron. I always will, no matter what, but…I just think I need some space right now. I need some time to figure things out." She sighed and closed her eyes before continuing, "I'm just so _tired,_ Ron."

"Is this about Malfoy?" Ron was looking at her shrewdly, his hurt and confusion plain on his face, as his emotions always were.

"No, Ron. It's about _me._ Even the thing with Malfoy is really about me. It feels like the world's turned upside down, and I'm just trying to hold onto who I am."

"What does 'who you are' have to do with Malfoy?" Hermione couldn't miss the accusation in his tone.

"It's about _doing the right thing, _Ron. Don't try to turn it into anything more than that." This, she thought, is what she needed a break from. She knew of Ron's many crippling insecurities, but she couldn't stand his complete lack of trust in her anymore. She deserved his trust, damn it, she'd _earned_ it.

"So what, is this it, then?" His eyes were brimming with unshed tears, but his voice was steady.

"I don't know. Maybe just for now?"

Ron nodded his head silently, and then leaned in to place a lingering kiss on her cheek. Hermione choked back a sob as he pulled away, leaving the room without another word. As she curled up in her soft bed, she resolved herself to making some real changes in the morning. It was not in her nature to sit around and mope, which seemed to be all she had done since the battle, save for her trip to the ministry that morning. It wasn't healthy, and it certainly wasn't helping anything. She needed purpose; she needed a mission. She needed Draco Malfoy.

***

Draco woke in his cell the next morning feeling distinctly better than he had in a long while. He groaned and stretched before rolling out of bed and shuffling over to his little sink. He eyed it speculatively, determined to get himself clean, somehow. The tiny tap seemed to gleam up at him in silent challenge. Draco pulled off his plain, gray shirt and tossed it onto his bed, followed by his loose, drawstring pants. He turned the knobs, filled his hands with warm water, and began splashing and scrubbing himself clean, one inch at a time. He eventually stuck his entire head in the basin, uncomfortably stooped low as he worked his fingers through his dirty hair.

Unfortunately, it was while he was in this rather compromising position that the door to his cell swung open, though he couldn't hear it. He _did, _however, hear the exclamation that followed.

"Oh, dear _god!"_ Hermione stumbled backward, pinching her eyes shut and knocking the door closed behind her.

Draco jerked upright at the sound, hitting his significantly cleaner head on the tap in the process. "_Merlin, _that bloody _hurts!" _

Clutching his bleeding scalp, he turned around to find Hermione Granger with her hands covering her face, mumbling "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _Jesus_ I'm sorry…" into her palms. He couldn't help it; he laughed. Hard. His shoulders shook and his chest burned, but he simply fell back onto his cot, really laughing for the first time in as long as he could remember.

Hermione lowered her hands after a moment and surveyed a still _very _naked Draco Malfoy, rolling about on his small bed, laughing like a mental patient. Just as she was starting to really worry about his sanity, she noticed the blood staining his white blond hair.

"Oh! You're hurt!" She moved to his bedside, determined to maintain whatever dignity she had left. "Would you _please _put your bloody pants on and let me have a look at you?"

Draco caught his breath and replied with his trademark smirk, "I don't know, don't you think you've had a good enough look already?"

Hermione's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she refused to let him know just how mortified she really was. "Oh, don't be an idiot, your head is bleeding!"

"I don't really see why I need pants if the injury's on my head. Does my nudity really bother you so much?"

Hermione felt flustered and confused. She'd never seen Draco in such a mood before; first the laughing, and now he was actually being _playful, _teasing, and maybe even a little _flirtatious. _It was all too bizarre. She decided not to let it bother her. Or rather, not to let him _know_ that it bothered her.

"Oh fine." She huffed, "Suit yourself. Now let me see your head."

"Yes, mum." Draco smiled at her before sitting forward on the edge of the bed, his head level with her chest. He realized with mild shock that he'd never _really_ looked at her before. At first, he had dismissed her because of her blood status. He'd stopped buying into that bullshit long ago, but Hermione had remained firmly out of bounds; not to even be considered in any romantic or sexual context. Recognizing this, he took the opportunity now to study her appearance. She was dressed in muggle jeans and a plain, fitted, black v-neck tee. He found himself staring at her collar bones. It seemed an odd thing to notice, but they were really kind of perfect.

Hermione tilted his head down and parted the fine, damp, blond hair out of the way to assess the damage. "It's not bad, just a nick. It's already stopped bleeding." Now that the distraction of his injury was nullified, she became uncomfortably aware of their proximity. She turned to wash her hands in the sink, grateful for an excuse to move away from him.

While her back was turned, Draco pulled on his pants, desperately willing his growing erection to go away. This task was not made any easier when Draco started noticing other perfect parts of her anatomy. He was beginning to develop a deep appreciation for certain muggle inventions; namely, tight-fitting blue jeans. Her arse looked positively edible in them.

Hermione turned back again to find Draco staring at her like she was a particularly delicious looking steak. She could swear he was almost _drooling_. This image, while startling, also served to remind her of the packages she dropped upon entering the room.

"Er…I brought lunch." She picked up the first, a picnic basket.

Draco had a dazed, unfocused look on his face and obviously hadn't heard a word she'd said. "Uh, what was that?"

Hermione lifted the basket. "Lunch. Hungry?"

Draco nodded, and Hermione started setting out containers on the floor. He climbed down from his seat on the cot and started opening them and examining their contents. He still hadn't put his shirt on, and Hermione thought he might have left it off intentionally to make her uncomfortable. It was working.

Draco noted her still-pink cheeks and even caught her looking at his bare chest. He grinned evilly in response, deciding to have a little fun with it. "So, Granger, see anything you like?" He threw in a lecherous wink for good measure.

Hermione raised one eyebrow and replied coolly, "Not especially. You're not really my type."

"Oh please, I'm _everybody's_ type."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at his playfully cocky attitude. She was more than a little puzzled by the drastic change in Draco's demeanor, but wasn't even sure how to go about asking him about it, so she filed it away for later inspection.

They ate a simple lunch of chicken sandwiches, crisps, fruit salad and pumpkin juice in an almost comfortable silence. When they'd finished, Hermione pulled a chocolate frog package out of her bag and handed it to Draco. He looked at it with a strange expression, pleasantly surprised but with just a hint of something foreign, something Hermione couldn't place.

Draco finally broke the long silence. "So, what's all this about, anyway?"

"Well, I wanted to talk to you, and I thought I might as well bring lunch along, since I never got the chance to eat after yesterday's visit."

"Yeah, I reckon your day was pretty busy. Who did you have to threaten to get these cells finally furnished?" Draco's forceful expression belied the casualness of his words.

Hermione wasn't expecting him to bring that up. "Well, what makes you think _I _had anything to do with it?"

Draco simply raised an eyebrow in response. She rolled her eyes and conceded. "I didn't have to _threaten_ anyone. I just had a little visit with Kingsley and brought the situation to his attention. I knew he would be displeased, and I have to say, I'm impressed by how quickly he remedied things."

"Yeah, well…you…you know I..." Draco seemed to be having trouble voicing his next thoughts.

"What, Malfoy?"

"Um, thanks. Thank you…for that, I mean." He wasn't looking at her now, but studying his chocolate frog card closely.

"Oh. It was nothing."

"No." Draco now fixed her with an intense stare, and when Hermione spoke again her voice was weak and unsteady.

"No?" She could feel herself trembling slightly under his gaze.

"No, it wasn't nothing. It was…" His voice trailed off and he looked away again. "Something."

"Oh." Hermione's voice was now barely more than a whisper, and she was still shaking.

Draco fidgeted uncomfortably in the silence, casting about for a new topic of conversation. "You said you wanted to talk to me."

"I did?"

"Yes, earlier. What about?"

"Oh, well I wanted to discuss something with you." Draco nodded for her to continue. "I asked Kingsley for the contact information for your legal counsel yesterday."

"What for?"

"Um, I was thinking I might testify on your behalf at your trial. If, you know, you want."

Draco watched her closely as she spoke, trying to decipher the emotions playing across her features. He also noticed the spattering of freckles across her nose for the first time, and the curious hazel color of her eyes. He snapped out of his inappropriate study of her face when her words sunk in. "You want to testify on my behalf?" She nodded. Draco suddenly stood up and began pacing across the small space.

What was she playing at? Draco was beginning to think all of this was an elaborate hoax, a conspiracy, or maybe even a ridiculous delusion. Why would she possibly go to all this trouble for him? He suddenly stopped and spun to face her again. "Why?"

"Why testify?" She asked, confused.

"Why…_all_ of it? The visits, the improvements, the lunch, the chocolate, all of the bloody _help, _why?" As he spoke, he moved forward until he was kneeling before her. "What do you want, Hermione?"

"I don't want anything." She looked almost frightened by his closeness.

"Nothing?" He moved in a little closer, watching closely for her reaction.

She shuddered slightly and looked down, first at his still bare chest, then down to her own hands, folded demurely in her lap. "Well…"

"Yes?" He was half-terrified, half-thrilled at the possibilities of what she might ask from him.

"If I asked you a question, would you swear to answer honestly?"

Draco nodded, he could do that. "I swear."

"The night Harry, Ron and I were brought to your house by Greyback…"

Draco's insides turned to lead with the memory of that night. "Go on."

"You wouldn't identify us. You wouldn't even look. Why?" Her expression was so unguarded, so honestly mystified.

Draco sat back, pulling his knees to his chest. He didn't want to talk about that night; he _hadn't _talked about it to _anyone._ But he promised, he _swore,_ and for some reason that actually mattered to him now. "I didn't want you to be there, any of you. I didn't want you to be caught. You don't understand…the three of you; you weren't just saving the people on _your_ side from him. You were saving all of us."

Hermione studied his face closely, searching for any hint that he was lying. She found none.

"And then when Bella…" Draco choked his words off and raked his hands through his hair. "Watching it; seeing you like that…" He turned his face down, his hair hiding the tears threatening to spill over. "And I did nothing. I'm so…god, Hermione. Why, _why _are you here? Why are you helping me? I don't deserve it." He was looking at her now, not heeding the tears running down his face.

Hermione watched him in shocked silence. Without thinking, she reached forward and gently wiped his tears away. He regarded her with something close to wonder, mingled with regret.

"You know…" she began in a gentle voice, "If we hadn't been brought there, if Bellatrix hadn't tortured me, we never would have known she was keeping a horcrux in her Gringotts vault."

Draco digested this information silently.

"Harry wouldn't have defeated Voldemort." Hermione looked away before continuing. "If I learned anything through all of that, it's that things happen for a reason. We can't often see it until it's over, but I don't believe good people ever really suffer in vain. If I had it to do over again, I would. And again, and again. It was worth it in the end."

Draco sat in awe of the witch before him. He'd always been taught to view kindness and selflessness as a weakness to be exploited in others, but there was nothing at all weak about Hermione Granger. She was powerful in ways men like his father could never comprehend. He shook himself out of his private reverie when she turned to face him again.

"You never answered my question." He'd only just remembered that he'd asked one at all, but he had, and not for the first time. She looked at him questioningly, so he continued. "Why are you helping me?"

She sighed wearily before answering. "You don't belong here, Draco. You were a victim of circumstance as much as anything. You had countless opportunities to show your true nature, and time and time again you chose to defy your father _and _Voldemort to do what was right, or at least to _not_ do the wrong thing."

He still didn't understand. "But I was horrible to you; why should you care what happens to me? Why would you, of all people, be willing to help me?

Hermione just shrugged. "If not me, then who?"

"Well, no one."

"Exactly." Hermione stated this as though it explained it all, but Draco was still lost. Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly, as though he was missing something extremely obvious. "Look, stop analyzing it, alright? I'm here; I'm helping, get over it already!"

Draco just smiled and nodded. "Okay."

"Good." She returned his smile and stood, gathering the remnants of lunch.

"You're not going?" He was a little embarrassed by the obvious disappointment in his tone.

She smiled at him coyly. "Why, were you expecting a slumber party?"

Draco squealed with delight in his girliest voice, "Ooh, we can put on sexy negligees and do each other's hair and have pillow fights and practice kissing!"

Hermione let out a snort of laughter. "Is that what you think girls _do _at slumber parties?"

"Hush, don't ruin it for me!" Draco grabbed his pillow off the bed and smacked her playfully across her bottom.

Hermione tried to take it from him to retaliate, but a brief tug-of-war ensued, ending with the pair of them tumbling backwards onto the cot. While Draco tried to right himself, she snatched the pillow and whacked him in the face, sending him falling back again.

She watched him scramble to his feet with amusement and just a little wonder. "You, Draco Malfoy, are a surprising individual."

He smiled at her, considering her words. "Yeah, I've even been surprising _myself_ a lot here lately."

"Oh, before I forget…" Hermione picked up the second parcel she brought in; a brown paper sack, which she handed to Draco.

He reached in and pulled out three large books; _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy by J.R.R. Tolkien, a blank notebook and a couple of ballpoint pens. The last items he regarded without recognition and held up with a raised eyebrow.

"They're pens; sort of like the muggle version of a self-inking quill."

"I see, and the books? I've never heard of them."

"Muggle classics, give them a chance. I'm curious to hear what you think about them."

Draco nodded, thoughtfully regarding his gifts. "Thank you, again, Hermione."

"You're welcome, Draco." Hermione held out her hand to shake his, and he took it, pulling her into a tight hug. She brought her arms around his bare torso, laying her cheek on the cool skin of his chest and resting her hands against his lower back.

"Will I see you soon?" He asked softly without letting her go. She could only nod. He tightened his hold on her momentarily before releasing her and stepping back. "Well, take care then, alright?"

"You, too, Draco." She flashed him a dazzling smile before collecting her things and leaving.

Draco sat on his bed, looking at the things she'd brought him. He could still feel her warmth on his skin; still smell her light scent in the small room. He stretched out and opened _The Fellowship of the Ring_ with a contented smile playing across his face. She was coming back.

**A/N: Happy Birthday, Hermione! **

**This chapter is sort of all over the place; sorry about that, that's just how it came out.**

**Thanks, as always for the kind reviews. You people make me happy. :D**


	6. Chapter Five: Wants

Disclaimer: I bow to the formidable talents of J.K. Rowling, who owns this fascinating little world that I so love to play in. (Yes, I am too lazy to write a new disclaimer for every chapter, sorry.)

A/N: Warning, slight smut. We're starting to earn that M rating. ;)

Chapter Five: Wants

Hermione arrived at Number 12 just as Kreacher was preparing dinner. She went down into the kitchen to get herself a drink and found Harry there keeping the old elf company as he flitted about the kitchen, refusing Harry's offer of assistance.

Harry looked up as she entered and eyed her in concern, while Kreacher fussed over her and seated her at the table with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of biscuits. Once she was seated, Harry turned to her with a careful expression, as though afraid she might fall apart. "Hey, you okay?"

"Actually, yes." The smile she sent him was so genuine his features visibly relaxed in response.

"Ron told me about your…talk."

"Hmm. I really think it's for the best, Harry." She didn't want to have to defend her actions just then, but Harry didn't seem to require her to.

"I think you're right." He took in her surprised expression and continued. "I don't pretend to understand whatever it is that's between you two, but it seems like an awful lot of stress that neither of you really needs right now."

"Yes, it's never really been easy for us, has it? I mean, there was always something keeping us apart, even when there was no real reason for it. I just don't think it's supposed to be so hard, you know?"

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I know with Ginny and me, the only thing that kept me away was my concern for her safety. Once that was no longer an issue, we went right back to where we were before, as though nothing had happened. She knows I never really wanted to be away from her; that I'd never really choose _anything_ over her."

Hermione took a moment to appreciate how much her friend had grown and admire the depth and sincerity of his feelings. "I'm happy for you, Harry. Ginny's an amazing girl, and you deserve her. You deserve some real happiness."

Harry blushed slightly before adding "What about you, Hermione?" She cocked her head to the side, unsure of his meaning. "You deserve happiness, too."

"Oh, I think I'll find it. I'm not in a huge rush, though; I've got time."

"Yeah, well, don't take too long about it, alright?"

She rolled her eyes and laughed at him. "Sure thing, Harry; I'll get right on it."

"Oh yeah, I nearly forgot…" Harry picked a rolled piece of parchment off the table and tossed it to her. The wax was imprinted with the Minister's seal. "That came for you while you were out."

Hermione rolled open the scroll to find the name and address of the Barrister representing Draco. She nodded to herself before rolling it back up and tucking it in her pocket.

"Well?" Harry was watching her expectantly.

She decided to feign ignorance. "Well, what?"

"Are you going to tell me what Kingsley's writing to you about?"

Hermione sighed in defeat. "I asked for the contact information for Draco's legal counsel. I'm going to testify on his behalf in court."

"Yes, I thought you might." Harry did not appear the least bit surprised, nor upset by this information.

"You…what? How did you know?"

"Hermione…" Harry smiled at her in a fond, yet smug manner. "Who knows you better than I do?"

She smiled back and rolled her eyes. "No one, Harry. No one knows me better than you do."

"You're damn right."

She smacked him playfully on the shoulder, but couldn't deny the relief she felt at his acceptance. "So, you're not angry?"

"No, Hermione, I'm not angry. I've actually been thinking a lot about it, and, well…" He seemed to be struggling with something difficult. "I'd be willing to testify, myself. About…Dumbledore."

Hermione felt a wave of love and admiration wash over her then. She knew how difficult it was for Harry to talk about that night, even to her, and for him to agree to rehash every intimate detail in a courtroom in order to save his childhood nemesis…it was truly touching.

"Oh, Harry…" She kissed his cheek and threw her arms around his shoulders. Harry patted her back awkwardly, surprised by the sudden emotional display. She sniffled a bit and spoke again without releasing him. "I'm so proud of you, Harry. You've become such a fine man."

Harry felt a little uncomfortable with her praise, and if it had been anyone else he might have made an excuse and fled from her then, but this was Hermione, so he hugged her back and kissed her head. "I wouldn't be half the man I am today without you, Hermione. You're the best of all of us." She let out a small sob and clutched him tighter. Harry held her, silently stroking her wild hair until she released her grip on him and sat back, wiping her eyes.

She sent him a timid smile, which he returned, just before Kreacher set two heaping bowls of stew before them. They both thanked him and began to eat in comfortable silence. Kreacher watched them both, grateful that his master was a good man with friends who loved him.

***

Later that evening Hermione stood under the near-scalding stream of water in her shower, thinking over the day's events. She was profoundly thankful for her friendship with Harry, and took a moment to bless that damned troll for attacking her in the girl's loo her first year. She laughed at the memory and remembered what she'd told Draco that afternoon: things happen for a reason.

Her thoughts now shifted to Draco and the afternoon they'd spent together. He seemed so enormously _different_ from the boy she'd known in school, but then again, who wasn't different these days? No one could have possibly survived the ordeal they'd all been through without changing to some degree, and Draco was no exception.

The way he'd looked at her was _certainly_ new. After she'd examined his head, while he was incredibly _nude_, her brain added unhelpfully, he'd looked at her in a way that was so very _primal_. Hungry, even. And the way he'd held her before she left had been…surprising.

She let her thoughts wander as she ran her soapy hands over her body, washing herself mindlessly. If she closed her eyes, she could still see his naked form, seated before her while she worked her fingers through his silky hair. Her hands now wandered over her own body, caressing her breasts before sliding down between her thighs. She remembered the way he knelt before her, asking her what she wanted from him, leaning in as though eager for her response; almost _begging_ her to need him. Her breathing turned ragged and her back arched, thrusting her breasts forward into the stream of hot water, while her release built inside her. She thought about the smooth skin of his chest as she laid her cheek against it, and the feel of his bare back under her hands. She was shaking now, shaking as she had when he'd turned his intense stare on her. She recalled the exact shade of his eyes, that smoky gray gazing out beneath white blond hair, and came apart, gasping his name.

***

Draco marked his place and put his book aside, enjoying the story, but unwilling to keep his thoughts off Hermione any longer. She was having quite an effect on him; he hardly recognized himself around her. He'd never been so candid with a girl before, not Pansy or any of the other Slytherin girls, not even his mother. He bloody well let himself _cry _in front of her! Of course, they had benefited from an extremely effective, extremely comical ice-breaker. He recalled her mortified reaction to his nudity with amusement before wondering if he could possibly be the first man she'd ever seen naked. It seemed possible; Draco doubted Weasley had ever gotten that far with her. He was less sure about Potter; there was a definite closeness between the two of them. He felt his face flush with irrational anger, a not unusual reaction where Potter was concerned. Draco had been hideously jealous of him since first year, after all. Saint Potter…bloody perfect at everything, naturally Hermione would love _him_. Of course, Potter had the Weasley girl, but Draco couldn't imagine anyone choosing a Weasley over Hermione Granger. He tried to put aside his worries about Potter by making a promise to do a little digging the next time she came to see him and find out how she really felt about the Chosen Boy Who Lived, or whatever the hell he was called.

He spent the next few minutes dissecting Hermione's words and expressions from the afternoon, attempting to decipher her feelings towards him. She _had _seen him naked; in fact, she had willingly been in quite close proximity to his nude body at one point. And he was quite sure he'd caught her ogling his exposed chest during lunch. Draco was insecure about a lot of things, but his physical appearance was not one of them. He knew the effect he had on women, and he was sure that Hermione was attracted to him, at least on some level. He just wasn't sure if that attraction was enough to override any conflicting feelings she might have. With just about any other girl he wouldn't even worry about it, but Hermione wasn't like that. She was simply…better.

He closed his eyes and thought about the reactions she stirred in him. He'd certainly never gotten hard over bloody _collar bones_ before; that was definitely a first. He thought it odd that he had been inches away from her breasts and opted to stare at the delicate bones peeking out from her shirt instead. It's not that her breasts weren't nice, they were. Very. Somewhat small and perky; just his type. He wondered what they looked like; what shade her nipples were, what sort of noises she might make if he took one in his mouth…

His hand moved down to lazily stroke his budding erection through the thin material of his gray pants. He pictured Hermione, cheeks flushed and chest heaving, perky breasts rising and falling beneath lovely, delicate collar bones. He slipped his hand inside his pants to grip himself harder when he imagined peeling those bloody tight jeans off her body; sliding them over her firm arse and curved hips, down her long, shapely thighs and tossing them on the floor. He moaned and panted when he pictured her lying beneath him in nothing but chaste, pink panties, her eyes warm with affection and need and trust. He thought back to their parting embrace and remembered her smell; light and fresh with a hint of citrus. He imagined another smell, the heady smell of her arousal as he peeled her pink panties off and she opened her legs to him, offering him her innocence and herself. Draco came hard, fisting his cock and the blanket beneath him, euphoric with the hope that Hermione could perhaps, maybe, possibly want him, too.

**A/N: *Whew* I'm working my way up to that first lemon with some slight smuttiness—let me know if I totally botched it, won't you? **

**Thanks for reading, über-thanks for reviewing, and for those of you who've put this story on alert or added it to your favorites…I freaking LOVE you. Seriously. Virtual cookies all around.**


	7. Chapter Six: Unexpected

Disclaimer: Tragically, I am not J.K. Rowling, nor do I own any of her fabulous creations.

A/N: A little smut, a little fluff, a little angst.

Chapter Six: Unexpected

Draco woke early the next morning and washed himself quickly; as amusing as Hermione's entrance had been the day before, he wasn't sure he wanted to repeat it. He had something entirely different in mind for the next time he was naked in front of her. He tried to keep his mind from wandering down _that_ road, thinking that the only thing worse than Hermione walking in on him naked and bent over his sink would be Hermione walking in on a scene similar to the one that played out last night in his bed. He was fairly certain her delicate sensibilities could not handle it, and she'd run screaming from the room, never to be seen again.

As a distraction, Draco dressed himself in a clean set of gray clothes and picked up the book he'd started the night before. He was soon stretched across his small bed, lost in the intricate story, and it wasn't until Frodo was setting out from Rivendell with the rest of the Fellowship that his cell door swung open on an unfamiliar woman, followed closely by a sheepish looking Hermione.

Hermione regarded the book in his hands, noting that he was more than half-way through it, and smiled more openly. The other woman, who wore well-tailored robes of charcoal gray, strode briskly toward Draco and held out her manicured hand with an air of confidence and purpose.

"Draco Malfoy, I am Barrister Waverly. I'll be preparing your case, along with those of your mother and father, and representing you in court." Draco shook her hand tentatively, more than a little surprised by her appearance. She paid no notice to his reaction and continued in a brisk, business-like manner. "As you can imagine, I have my hands full at the moment; your father's trial begins two weeks from today, so I'd like to skip any unnecessary formalities and get straight to the matter at hand."

Draco sat up straighter and nodded his agreement as Hermione took a seat beside him on the cot. He tried not to be distracted by her proximity and focused his attention on the tall, imposing woman before him.

"Good. Let's see…" She regarded the notebook held in her hands with detached interest. "You are planning to plead innocence against the charges of attempted murder, use of an unforgiveable curse, and sedition, is that correct?"

Draco looked to Hermione, feeling uncertain about his answer. She answered for him. "That's correct." He cocked an eyebrow at her, but she answered it with a stern expression, quieting his protestations.

Waverly nodded and checked her notes again. "I see that Miss Granger and Mr. Potter have agreed to testify on your behalf; are there any other witnesses you'd like to call? Perhaps your mother or a servant who might have witnessed the events that took place in your manor? I think it unwise to involve your father, given the circumstances."

Draco's mouth hung open in shock. "Potter?"

The Barrister looked over her notes again before responding with slight irritation. "Yes, Harry Potter witnessed the events leading up to Albus Dumbledore's death. He came into my office this morning with Miss Granger to offer his assistance."

Draco turned to stare at Hermione, confusion written on his face.

"Is there anyone else I should consult as a possible witness? Mr. Malfoy?"

He shook himself out of his stupor to respond weakly. "Mother. She knew about the threats and all. She was the one who went to Professor Snape for help on my behalf."

Waverly nodded and scratched a few lines on the notebook in her hands. "Alright, then. If there's nothing else you need from me today, I'd like to get back to work on your father's case."

Draco just nodded his head silently, and Hermione stood to walk the elder woman to the door. "Thank you, Barrister. If you need anything, you know where to find me."

Waverly took Hermione's hand in a brief shake and nodded to each of them in turn. "Good day Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy." And then she was gone.

Draco felt hot and shaky; he stood up and moved to the sink, where he splashed cold water on his face for a few minutes, gathering his thoughts. When he turned around again, Hermione was back on the bed, watching him closely.

"Potter?"

Hermione nodded her head. "I told him about testifying at dinner last night. He offered to help, seeing as how he's the only other living witness to Dumbledore's death."

Draco took this information in before giving a small start. "Wait, he what? He…you mean he was _there_?"

When Hermione nodded sadly, Draco put the pieces together. "The second broomstick." He'd thought someone might have been about. "But, why didn't he do anything?"

"He was under his invisibility cloak. Dumbledore immobilized him about half a second before you disarmed him. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, until…"

Draco felt ill. "So he saw; he knows…everything."

"Yes."

Draco slumped to the floor with his head in his hands, and Hermione was quickly at his side.

"And now he wants to help me."

"Harry's grown up quite a lot in the past year, Draco. He doesn't want to punish you; he wants to do the right thing. He wants to move on with his life."

Draco recalled his jealousy and curiosity from the night before. "You love him." He felt resigned to it, now. Harry's selfless offer to testify for him made it impossible, or rather ridiculously immature, to hate him now.

She nodded with a small, tender smile on her face. "Very much, so."

"What about the Weasley girl?"

Hermione looked utterly bemused by his comment, but then she smiled wide as she deciphered his meaning. "It's not like that, Draco. Harry…he's more than a friend, more than a brother, even. But it's never been that way between us."

"Oh." Draco tried unsuccessfully to wrap his head around her words. "But you _do_ love him?"

"I'd die for him." She said it so calmly, as though she was promising nothing greater than to share her lunch with him.

"You almost did, you know." He nudged her side playfully, a small smile forming on his lips.

She just laughed. "Many times over."

Draco shook his head, trying to imagine risking himself so willingly for someone that way. "Crazy bint."

She smacked him lightly on the back of the head, and Draco gave her a challenging look just before reaching for his pillow.

"Oh, no you don't!" Hermione threw herself across him, knocking them both to the floor. Draco gripped her shoulders firmly and rolled, maneuvering himself until he had her pinned beneath him, her careless laughter echoing around the small room as she struggled. Her hair was spilled around her in wild waves, framing her flushed face. The simple, white cotton skirt she'd worn was bunched and hiked halfway up her thighs, separated by Draco's right knee. He moved his hands from her shoulders to the floor, trapping her head between them. Her light blue shirt was twisted and wrinkled, with the hem resting an inch above her belly button, exposing the smooth, pale skin of her abdomen.

She'd stopped laughing now, and her hazel eyes peered up at him from under heavy lids. Her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing, reminding Draco of the image he'd conjured the night before. He slowly lowered his head into the masses of hair beside her face, breathing in her scent, committing it to memory.

She raised a hand, tentatively placing it against his side, under his loose gray shirt. Draco shivered at the contact and turned his face towards her, slowly raising his head, allowing his nose to skim along her cheek until it brushed her own. Her eyes were closed now, her sweet breath puffing against his mouth in hot, little spearmint gusts.

He tentatively lowered his mouth to her slightly parted lips, lightly brushing his against hers, testing for resistance. She responded immediately, crushing her mouth against his and bringing her other hand to trail from his chest up his neck and into his hair. The hand she'd left on his side was gripping him tightly, pulling his body down to meet her own. He moaned softly into her eager mouth, marveling at her bold actions. Her soft tongue came out to drag along his lower lip, achingly slow, and Draco quickly responded to her invitation by deepening the kiss.

She tasted divine, and her small body fit against his perfectly. Remembering the hard floor beneath her, Draco gripped her and rolled once again, switching their positions so she could lay comfortably against his chest.

Hermione's hand moved from her hold on his side around to his stomach, and then on up his chest, playing gently with the light sprinkling of fine blond hairs there. Draco's hands slid from their position at her shoulders, down her sides, to grip her arse firmly. He bent the leg that lay between hers, raising it until she was nestled firmly against it, her thighs clamped tight on either side. He used his grip on her arse to pull her forward, grinding her body against his.

Hermione jerked her head back, breaking the kiss and moaning a startled "Oh!" while looking down at him in wonder. He looked back at her timidly, hoping he hadn't pushed her too far too fast, but she quelled his fears when she repeated the movement on her own, closing her eyes again. She continued to move against him, eventually lowering her head to kiss him once more, taking his lower lip between hers and sucking on it gently. She starting making the softest mewling noises and her breathing was quickly turning erratic.

Draco was shocked, awed, and irretrievably turned on. He used his grip on her to aid her movements, grinding her harder and faster against his straining erection. His fingers brushed against the hem of her skirt, which he belated realized was pushed all the way up to her arse. He ran his fingers along the edge of her panties for a moment, giving her time to realize his intentions. When her only response was a throaty moan, he tucked a finger under the elastic and slid it down and around the curve of her arse until he could feel her, wet and hot to the touch.

Her hips bucked wildly at his touch and she fisted his hair almost painfully. Draco continued to stroke her, running his finger from her entrance to her swollen clit and back again. Without warning, she pulled back slightly as she moved her right leg around his until she was straddling him outright. He could easily feel her through the thin fabric of his trousers, and soon his own breath was coming in ragged gasps. He gently slipped a finger inside her and she pushed herself back against his hand, urging him in deeper.

Hermione trailed kisses along his jaw until she reached his ear, then took his lobe between her teeth, biting down and tugging gently. Draco was amazed by her; every touch, every sound, every little movement was perfection. She released his ear and tucked her head in to his neck, breath frantic and body tensing, and then she was shuddering on top of him, gasping out his name with her open mouth pressed against his neck.

He found his own release the moment she breathed out a ragged "Oh, god…Draco!" her breath hot against his bare skin. They lay there a while, Draco's arms wrapped around her waist, Hermione's face still tucked between his neck and shoulder, recovering from the unexpected detour in the day's activities. Draco was just trying to decide how to break the silence when Hermione did it for him.

"I brought lunch."

Draco laughed in relief, clutching her tighter and planting a kiss atop her head. When he released her, she awkwardly climbed to her feet, carefully avoiding his gaze. Her hair was tousled and her clothes wrinkled and her cheeks shone pink under a thin sheen of sweat. Draco thought to himself then that no woman anywhere had ever looked more beautiful.

She set about laying out their lunch quietly, still without meeting his eyes and he knew he needed to say _something._

"Hermione…" She continued digging in the picnic basket without acknowledging him. "Hermione, _look_ at me."

When she finally focused her gaze on him, she looked so uncertain, so embarrassed that he felt compelled to hold her, kiss her, do anything he could to ease her worries. He settled for taking her hand in his. "Are you okay?"

She nodded timidly. "That was…unexpected."

Draco had to laugh in response. "You have no idea." He never in a million years would have imagined the perfectly prudish Hermione Granger to have such a wildly passionate streak in her. He'd just had the most intimately sexual experience of his considerably un-virginal life, and they hadn't even had actual sex. 'Unexpected' didn't even begin to cover it.

"I don't really know what came over me…" She looked almost apologetic, which Draco couldn't understand at all.

"Was that, you know, the first time you let someone touch you that way?"

She nodded silently, the pink of her cheeks deepening again.

"Oh. You're not angry with me, are you?" He was desperate to find out why she was acting so strange.

She shook her head vehemently before responding softly with her eyes turned down. "No, I wanted you to."

Draco could tell that much for himself, but thought it unwise to say so. "Then what's wrong?"

"I…it's just…I mean, I…" She buried her face in her hands with an exasperated sigh. "I don't really know. I feel…foolish, maybe."

Draco took her by the shoulders and pulled her to him for a hug before responding gently. "Please don't. I know this is weird, and surprising, and all happening _very_ fast, and I'm sure I'm the last person you would have ever imagined being with like that..."

She interrupted him then. "No. Not the last, anyway." She was smirking a little now; a definite improvement.

He returned her smirk with one of his own. "Well maybe not the last; surely _someone_ ranked lower than me…Longbottom, maybe?"

Hermione swatted his chest before countering. "More like Goyle."

Draco made a face of mild disgust. "Right. Well I'm glad to know I ranked higher than Goyle."

She looked down at the floor again before continuing. "What about you, though?"

"Well I never really much fancied Goyle, either."

"No, I meant I'm surprised you'd let yourself be touched by someone like me."

"Like you?"

She looked up at him with sad eyes and pointed at her chest and those perfect collar bones. "Mudblood, remember?"

Draco flinched at her words and the pain in her eyes. "Oh, Hermione…" She was looking away again, the beginnings of tears shining in her eyes. "You know I stopped believing all of that nonsense ages ago."

"Did you?" She didn't sound convinced.

He took her chin between in his hand and turned her to face him again. "Yes, I did. How could I go on believing all of those lies with you there as living, breathing proof, contradicting every bad thing I was ever told about muggleborns right before my eyes?"

She seemed to be considering his words, recognizing the logic there. "Think about it. When was the last time I actually called you a mudblood?" She thought about it for a minute with a puzzled look on her face. "What, maybe third year? I was thirteen years-old, Hermione, and a right _idiot_, if you'll recall." She laughed a little then, relaxing against him.

"Look, Hermione…I don't really know what's going to happen to me. Maybe I'll spend the rest of my life in jail, maybe I won't. I _do_ know that I wouldn't even have a chance at a real life without your help; I wouldn't even be brave enough to hope for it."

Her voice was firmer now in response to his worries. "No, Draco, you won't spend your life locked up; I won't allow it."

He felt the now familiar tug in his chest at her words. "I know. What I mean to say is that no matter what happens, I want you to know how much it means to me that you're here. You're honestly the most amazing person I've ever met; I've never known anyone as selfless and compassionate and simply _good_ as you are, not even close."

She buried her face in his chest, absorbing his compliment wordlessly, so he continued in a softer tone. "I'd be _lucky_ to have you any way that I can; _honored_ that you'd even consider me. I could never deserve you, Hermione."

He seemed to have said the right thing for once, because she pulled herself off of his chest and kissed him as soon as he'd finished speaking. They stayed that way for a moment, until Draco's stomach decided to make itself known with a loud, angry rumble. Hermione pulled away, laughing softly. "Let's eat then; I'm famished."

Draco studied his nails pompously before replying "Yes, I seem to have that affect on women."

She responded by rolling her eyes and stuffing a roll in his mouth. "Eat your lunch, you arrogant prat."

He pulled it out and regarded her fondly. "Yes, dear."

**A/N: Serious love to all my reviewers!**


	8. Chapter Seven: Trials and Tribulations

Disclaimer: I confess; I really am J.K. Rowling. I'm absurdly talented and wealthy, and yet I spend my days writing fanfiction for my own stories. What's that? You mean to tell me that that's completely illogical and thoroughly unbelievable? Well, damn.

Chapter Seven: Trials and Tribulations

The next few weeks passed without any major incidents. Hermione would travel to the ministry each day, check her wand with the aurors in charge of guarding the prisoners, and let herself into Draco's cell carrying a picnic basket and, as needed, new reading materials. The guards didn't even bother locking her in after the first few visits.

The initial awkwardness of their new relationship had more or less passed after their first foray into physical intimacy, and they continued to snog each other senseless whenever the urge hit them. This turned out to be quite often, though they never ventured any farther than they had that first time. Draco was secretly dying to strip her clothes off and ravish her, but felt unwilling to pressure her into anything so soon. Besides, he was surprised by just how much he could enjoy taking things slow with Hermione Granger.

Hermione only felt confused about her feelings for Draco when she wasn't with him. She'd yet to talk to anyone about what was going on, though she sometimes thought Harry might know anyway. He would often eye her speculatively upon her return from the ministry, but would then simply smile gently at her and continue as though he suspected nothing. She felt guilty about not confiding in her best friend, but couldn't bring herself to talk about it when things were still so unsure. She once thought briefly about Ron's reaction, before bursting into guilty tears and blocking the thought from her mind.

Draco and Hermione spent their visits getting to know one another better. They talked about literature, music, art and even quidditch. They compared the cultures of muggles and wizards, each imparting heretofore unknown knowledge upon the other. Hermione delighted in bringing him muggle novels about wizards and magic, debunking the common wizard belief that all muggles hated and feared anything magical.

They did not often talk about the Malfoys' impending trials, nor the events that necessitated them. However, as the date of Lucius' arraignment approached, Hermione could detect suppressed fear and dread lurking beneath Draco's carefully pleasant façade. The day before the trial was scheduled to start, Hermione decided to broach the subject.

Draco was seated on his cot; his back against the wall with Hermione nestled against his chest, his fingers working lazily through her wavy tresses.

"Draco?"

"Hm?"

"Are you worried about your father's trial?"

His hands stilled in her hair and his body tensed infinitesimally. "A bit."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

He let out a sigh and continued his earlier movements, winding her loose curls around his fingers and then unraveling them. "I don't really know what to say, Hermione. Part of me wishes he would get off the way he did the first time around, but another part knows he really shouldn't."

Hermione digested this silently, allowing him to think before he continued again, softer this time.

"Then there's another part, a part I'm not terribly proud of, that can only think about how it will affect _me._ Father is…demanding. He expects a lot of me, being the sole heir to the Malfoy name and fortune and all." His voice was now slightly bitter, harsher as he recalled his strained relationship with the man. "I don't really know if any of this has changed him, but I would expect it hasn't. I don't think I could handle moving back into the manor, knowing that he would treat me and everyone else as though nothing had happened."

Hermione nodded silently against his chest, pleased and a little surprised at his candid response. He interrupted her musings when he continued in a firmer tone, voice strong with his conviction. "I can't go back to the person I used to be, Hermione. I won't."

Hermione felt her heart swell in her chest, and she turned around to place tender kisses across his face, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I know, Draco. I know."

"Will you be there, tomorrow?" Draco and Narcissa were being permitted to watch Lucius' trial in the morning, but he'd yet to ask her to come. He was a little daunted by the idea of suffering it without her.

Hermione gave him a little squeeze of assurance. "Only if you want me to be." He nodded silently in response, so she added, "Then I'll be there."

Draco whispered his thanks into her hair, rubbing light circles into her lower back with his strong hands. They spent the rest of the day in silence, just holding one another in quiet reassurance.

***

Draco was ushered onto a bench next to his mother by a stoic looking auror. Narcissa Malfoy was nearly unrecognizable in her drab, gray prison garb; her usually lush hair lay lank and dirty on her too-thin shoulders, her face was pale and pinched, and her normally rigid posture had been broken into something weak and frightened, her shoulders hunched in on themselves. Draco took her hand in his and squeezed gently; giving her the most comforting look he could muster.

Narcissa looked on her son with pale, frightened eyes, already shimmering with unshed tears. "Draco…"

"It's alright, I'm here, Mother." She nodded slowly, then leaned her head against his shoulder. Draco wrapped an arm around her protectively, determined to make her feel safe again even if only for a moment.

The trial was being held in one of the large, round chambers on the opposite side of the lift from the prisoner's quarters. Draco and Narcissa sat in the topmost bench, with aurors stationed all around. The wizengamot sat in the lowest benches, nearest to the floor where the testimonies would be taking place. The few who had come to watch were trickling in now, taking their seats at the opposite side of the chamber from Draco and Narcissa. Members of the press were, thankfully, not allowed.

Draco shifted in his seat when Hermione walked in. She sat down nervously across the room, her eyes flitting about, taking in the grim atmosphere around her. She saw Draco and sent him a sad smile before moving her gaze to Narcissa. He could see concern and pity written in her features, and when she looked back to him she seemed to be fighting back tears. He smiled bravely back at her, clutching his mother a bit tighter to his side.

The murmurs of muted conversations came to a sudden halt when a door opened at the bottom of the chamber and Lucius Malfoy walked steadily to his seat, placed at the center of the chamber floor. Barrister Waverly was seated at a side bench, quill poised above her notebook.

Draco didn't notice when the Chief Warlock opened the proceedings, calling for order and reading the charges being brought against the elder Malfoy. His eyes were glued to his father's grave features; everything else seemed to melt away. He did notice when Waverly stood and addressed the wizengamot, requesting permission for her client to make an opening statement. Permission was granted, and Lucius stood to face his judgment.

Utter silence reigned in the courtroom as Lucius Malfoy began to speak. "Honorable members of the wizengamot, thank you for allowing me the opportunity to speak my mind on this grave occasion. You have read the charges brought against me, and I'm quite sure they came as no great shock to any one of you. My involvement in He-who-must-not-be-named's recent return to power has not been a great secret. I stand before you now to beg your mercy. Not for myself, but for those I have unfairly entangled in the web of my own undeniable mistakes; I beg your mercy on behalf of my wife and son." His eyes now traveled above the wizengamot to rest on his family. "The only crime they are truly guilty of is that of love and loyalty paid out to someone wholly undeserving. I shall serve my sentence willingly, but please, do not punish the innocent for my mistakes."

Lucius fixed his son with a look that spoke a thousand words of remorse and love. With that look, he finally gave Draco his acceptance, his approval, his unconditional love and support, and most importantly, his permission to move forward without him, to live his life fully and without regret.

Draco's chest was aching, his throat burning with repressed emotion. He nodded his head to his father, acknowledging everything that had passed unsaid between them.

Lucius sat back down, but kept his eyes on his wife and son. The wizengamot was now a mass of rustling cloaks and hushed voices as they reached a decision. After a few moments, the Chief Warlock stood to address the room once more. "Lucius Malfoy, for crimes innumerable committed under order of the dark wizard Lord Voldemort, we hereby sentence you to life imprisonment without possibility of parole. This session is dismissed."

Narcissa let out a weak sob, collapsing against Draco completely. Draco held on to his mother, unable to utter any words of meaningless comfort, unable to say anything at all as the chamber slowly emptied. Lucius was taken back into the small chamber off the floor, and one of the aurors turned to address Draco and his weeping mother. "We'll take you down now. You'll have twenty minutes with him until you're to be taken back to your cells." Draco stood, supporting his mother's thin frame, and followed the aurors to the floor, where Hermione stood alone, watching him carefully.

He watched her cry silently for him, knowing she understood everything he was feeling. "Wait for me?"

She nodded. "I'll be here."

Knowing she'd be there waiting for him when it was over, Draco felt strong enough to face this parting. He gripped his mother firmly and walked forward to say goodbye to his father.

***

Hermione stood leaning against the wall, watching the door to the side chamber intently. Her heart was breaking for Draco and his once-proud mother, who seemed so broken now, but she really just wanted to _kiss_ Lucius, she was so grateful for the things he'd said. She knew what that would mean to Draco, to have this final, incontrovertible evidence that his father really and truly did love him, more than life, more than freedom.

She stood up straighter when the door opened and the small family filed out. They embraced each other one more time before a quartet of aurors came forward to lead Lucius away. When he passed by Hermione on his way to the main exit, he eyed her curiously before bowing his head in silent greeting. She mimicked his actions, unable to find words to express her gratitude, unsure that he would even understand her part in any of this if she did. A heartbeat later and he was gone, swallowed up by the darkness of the corridor outside. Hermione turned to see Draco and Narcissa watching her, the same sad smile on both their faces.

One of the remaining aurors addressed her then. "Will you be visiting Mr. Malfoy's cell this evening, Miss Granger?"

Hermione blushed violently and turned to Draco with her eyebrow raised in question. He nodded once, and she mumbled a timid "Yes" before following the group out the door. She was painfully aware of Narcissa, still clutching her son's arm and wiping at her eyes sporadically. She hadn't really thought about Draco's parent's reaction to their somewhat unconventional romance, but now that she had, she was a little terrified.

The group stopped outside a door much nearer to the lift than Draco's, and Hermione supposed it must have been Narcissa's room. She watched mother and son embrace again; murmuring unintelligible comforts to one another, before Narcissa drew back and unexpectedly turned to face Hermione.

Hermione froze, unable to think or move until Narcissa reached out and took her in a gentle hug, stooping slightly to whisper in her ear. "You'll look after him for me, then?" Hermione nodded wordlessly, and Narcissa placed a light kiss against her temple before drawing back, fixing her with a grateful look, and walking gracefully into her cell.

Hermione was still staring at the closed door when she felt Draco take her hand in his, guiding her along the corridor to his own room. Once inside, he led her to the small bed where he lay down on his side and pulled her down to rest with her back pressed tight against his chest. No words were needed, and none were spoken. They simply lay together, hands clasped, chests moving in unison, until sleep overtook them both.

**A/N: I really have no knowledge whatsoever of British trial procedures, and I'd imagine wizard trials would be completely different anyway, so I'm going to have to play it a little loose and sloppy with these scenes. Forgive me.**

**Thanks, as always, for reading. Your reviews make me inappropriately happy. :D**


	9. Chapter Eight: Reality

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I mean, yeah I own copies of the books and movies, maybe some merchandise, but…oh hell, you know what I mean.

Chapter Eight: Reality

Hermione turned over in her sleep, snuggling into the warm body pressed close behind her. Her mind was still in slumber, but her senses were starting to awaken. She could smell something familiar; something faint and vaguely wonderful. She felt strong arms wrap around her, hands nestling in her hair. She heard a soft sigh and the light rustling of fabric as the solid mass before her shifted slightly. She blinked her hazel eyes open and saw silver ones gazing back at her, framed with long, black lashes. Draco smoothed several unruly locks away from her face before kissing her softly on the nose.

Hermione smiled widely up at him. "Hi."

He smiled softly in return, amused by her greeting. "Hi."

She pulled herself into his chest, breathing in his scent and basking in his warmth.

Draco tightened his hold on her before speaking again. "Won't your parents be worried?"

He felt her body stiffen and her face tuck further into his chest at his words. When she spoke her voice was muffled slightly by his shirt. "No. No, they're not worried about me."

She sounded so sad and somehow guilty, which he didn't understand at all. "How can you be sure?"

She pulled back now to speak clearly. "Because, they're currently living in Australia with no idea that they have a daughter, or even what their real names are."

"What?"

She sighed tiredly and rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. "I put a memory charm on them last summer. I needed to know they'd be safe while I was hunting horcruxes with Harry."

Draco considered this information and how hard that must have been for her. "Why didn't you just send them into hiding; you know, use a fidelius charm or something?"

"I thought this would be safer and maybe even easier on them. They haven't had to worry about my well-being, and if something had happened to me, they wouldn't have suffered."

Draco thought about how calmly and analytically she had dealt with the very real possibility of dying and felt his heart constrict in his chest. She could have _died_. In his _home. _Images of Hermione, broken and bleeding on the floor of his family parlor, flashed to the forefront of his mind. She had come so close that night; how many other close calls had she had?

Draco scooped Hermione up again, crushing her to him. He felt so angry and scared and supremely _grateful_ that she wasn't hurt. But she had been hurt, hadn't she? Right in front of him. And he'd done _nothing._ Draco's head was swimming with guilt and shame, and he felt distinctly and thoroughly aware of just how little he deserved Hermione Granger.

She was now absently running her fingers through his fine, blond hair, her mind an ocean away with her parents. "I'm going to go find them soon, but I wanted to wait and make sure it was safe first. I've been able to check up on them through some muggle contacts I've made, and they're doing well, at least."

She still sounded like she was wrestling with some serious guilt, so Draco put aside his own frustrations to try and comfort her. "You did the right thing, Hermione. They're lucky to have a daughter who would go to such lengths to protect them; I know it can't have been easy for you."

She just nodded, trying to keep her emotions in check. Sensing her struggle, Draco decided to change the subject. "So then, where have you been staying?"

"With Harry in Sirius's old town house."

Draco tried somewhat unsuccessfully to keep his jealousy at bay with this new revelation. "Oh?"

"Yes, well, neither of us really wanted to be alone, and we felt we ought to give the Weasleys a little space to work through things. Grimmauld Place seemed the obvious choice."

"Yeah, I guess so." The very small part of Draco's mind that wasn't throwing a fit over Hermione having slumber parties with Potter marveled at the kaleidoscope of emotions he'd run through already that morning.

Hermione noticed the slight petulance in his tone and eyed him shrewdly. "What, does that bother you?"

"No, of course not." He answered much too quickly, and the rapid spread of softest pink over his cheeks implied that he realized it.

Hermione's smirk was truly evil now. "Awww, wittle Dwaco's jeawous!"

Draco roughly grabbed Hermione's arms, yanking them over her head while he gripped both her wrists with one hand, holding them in place. He hovered a hair's breadth over her face, so close he could feel her breath puffing across his mouth. "Malfoys don't get _jealous._" His voice was low and rough, and Hermione was frozen with surprise. He waited about a minute longer before savagely tickling her.

Hermione screamed with laughter and thrashed beneath him, but he kept his hold on her arms and continued his assault. Her cunning mind kicked into gear, and she decided to switch tactics. She hooked first one, then the other leg up and around his waist, linking her ankles behind his arse, then jerked him down on top of her, at the same time arching her back, pressing her chest into his. Draco's eyes immediately clouded over, and his hand went from tickling to caressing almost instantly. Then his mouth was at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, gently nipping and sucking at her collar bones.

Feeling smug and more than a little aroused, Hermione writhed beneath him, earning a low, throaty moan. On some level, Draco was aware that he'd been tricked, and that he should probably feel angry or even indignant at the level of control she seemed to have over him. However, he couldn't find it in him to be too concerned when her hips were grinding against his and she was panting so deliciously.

His mouth worked its way up from her perfect collar bones to her lovely pink lips, branding the feel of her into his mind, into his very flesh. Her skin was warm and soft and smooth, and her scent was muddling his thoughts and fueling the need he'd been feeling for her the past two weeks. He kissed her, and she responded with fervor, taking his tongue into her mouth and sucking on it, driving him absolutely wild.

His hand moved from its place caressing her side to the edge of her shirt and under, cupping first one and then the other soft, perky breast, his fingers tucking under her bra to rub her taut nipples. Hermione moaned into his mouth when he tweaked and pulled at one, causing her back to arch involuntarily.

She was pulling at his hold on her wrists now, wanting to explore his body with her hands, but Draco held firm. He pulled back to look into her eyes, watching intently as his fingers continued teasing her breasts. Hermione's body was flushed with arousal and slight embarrassment at his intense stare, but Draco's eyes held hers in place as his hands traveled lower. He looked down as he pulled her soft skirt up until he could see plain black knickers between her creamy thighs. He reached under her raised skirt to grasp and then gently tug them down. Hermione obediently lifted her legs so he could remove them completely, tossing them carelessly to the floor. Returning his gaze to her eyes, he held her captivated as his hand slid up her leg to touch her intimately. Draco watched the emotions play out in her honest features; anxiety, lust, embarrassment, need and trust, all present in the set expression of her beautiful face.

He stroked her expertly, bringing her to the brink of satisfaction before slowing abruptly; his teasing causing her to whimper and grind herself eagerly against his hand. He continued this pattern, releasing her hands which flew immediately to his chest, his hair, his wrist, urging his movements with insistent tugging. He kissed her deeply, once, before pulling himself up and into a kneeling position between her legs. He raised one trembling leg to nip and suck at the thin skin on her ankle, then slid his tongue up to the inside of her knee, keeping his smoldering eyes locked on hers, and then up again until his senses were assaulted with the heat and scent of her arousal. Hermione was now propped up on her elbows, watching with rapt attention as Draco swept his tongue firmly between her legs without taking his gray eyes off of hers.

Hermione watched him taste her, reveling in the overwhelming sensations his tongue was stirring in her. This was quite a bit further than anything else they'd done together, and it had come on so quickly that her head was spinning. She let out a low moan, closed her eyes, and dropped her head back onto the pillow. She wove her fingers into his hair, holding him in place against her as her hips started to jerk involuntarily.

A deep growl resonated in the back of Draco's throat, sending hot vibrations through his mouth into her writhing body. His mind was completely consumed with Hermione; her taste, her smell, her hands in his hair, her smooth thighs trembling against his cheeks, her heavy breathing punctuated with the gasps and soft cries of her pleasure. She was close now, and Draco doubled his efforts, slipping first one, then two long fingers inside her while his tongue worked furiously against her clit. She came with a breathless scream of his name, her back arching and legs clamping tight around his head. He might have been uncomfortable if he hadn't been so completely intoxicated by the evidence of her satisfaction.

He pulled back when her trembling stopped, stretching out beside her once more.

Hermione's eyes were still closed, her face was flushed pink and sweating lightly, and her mouth curved in a lazy grin. "Wow."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her intently, as though trying to memorize the exact shade and lines of her face. She reached a hand to grip his shirt and pulled him down to kiss her. She could taste herself on him, and the flavor was unbelievably erotic.

When they broke the kiss, she tried unsuccessfully to form coherent thoughts. "Weren't we, I don't know, talking about something?"

Draco chuckled at her puzzled expression. He felt no small amount of satisfaction from the fact that he had managed to empty the impressive mind of Hermione Granger. "I'm sure we were, but I prefer our non-verbal interactions, personally. Who needs reality, anyway?"

She frowned at his words, suddenly deep in reflection. "Funny you should mention that…"

"Is it?"

"Mm-hm. I've been noticing that all we seem to do together is avoid facing reality. We spend every day here _in your jail cell_, waiting for a trial that will determine the rest of your life. We've just come out of a bloody _war,_ my parents are living with modified memories in another country, your father's trial was only yesterday, and your mother's is coming up soon. We both know quite a few people who've died, and the entire wizarding world has been turned on its head."

Draco watched her closely, trying to decipher her mood. "And…?"

"And all we do is talk and read and _snog_, like our lives aren't complete bloody messes! Like it's not even completely _bizarre _that you and I can even _stand_ each other, let alone do the kinds of things we just…" She ended her little tirade with a furious blush, and the most adorable look of consternation Draco had ever seen.

"Hermione…" Draco sighed heavily, trying to find his words. "I know what we've been doing here, well, it's illogical and slightly inappropriate, considering everything that's going on, but…"

"But?"

"But, what if this is all we have? I know you believe I won't spend the rest of my life locked away in Azkaban, but there are no real guarantees. And even if I am released…Hermione, the real world is waiting outside those doors. Chances are we won't last out there; not together at least."

Hermione looked stricken when he said this, and he could read rejection in her eyes. Draco gently stroked her hair as he continued. "Try and see us the way the world will. You are Hermione Granger: savior of wizard-kind, heroine of the light, and muggleborn champion of Britain. Who am I? Draco sodding Malfoy: junior Death Eater, attempted assassin, and the ultimate pureblood prat."

She opened her mouth to no doubt defend his honor, but was silenced by Draco's hand pressed gently against her lips. "No one would want to see you end up with someone like me. They'll judge you for it, Hermione."

She gave a derisive snort that took him by surprise. "And when exactly have I cared about public opinion? I know who you are, Draco Malfoy, and I'm not interested in anyone else's opinion on the subject."

Draco just smiled at her sadly. "What about Potter and Weasley? Do they know about this?" He punctuated this last statement by cupping her cheek and running his thumb across her lips, earning a small shiver. The guilty expression that followed was all the confirmation he needed. "I thought not. It's alright, you know."

She shook her head, dislodging the tears building up behind her lashes. "No, it isn't. I should have told them, Draco, I'm sorry."

He shushed her softly and wiped her cheeks dry. "I certainly don't blame you for keeping it to yourself; I can't imagine they'll be too happy about it."

"Well, Ron won't, but I think Harry will understand. I think he knows already anyway." Draco just raised an eyebrow in silent question. "He knows me…better than anyone, really. He knew I would want to help you before I ever said anything about it, and he gives me this look sometimes…"

"And he's not angry?"

"No. Harry trusts me; he had to in order for us to have survived the last year."

"And Weasley?"

Hermione buried her face in her hands, trying desperately, and failing, to hold back her guilty tears. Draco pulled her to him and waited patiently for her to respond.

"He…it…well, it's different with Ron."

"Oh, how so?"

"Well, we sort of were, I don't know. Involved. Romantically. But we never quite got there. Oh, I don't know, it's complicated!"

Draco was a bit shocked by this. He'd spent so much of his energy feeling jealous of Potter that he hadn't even considered that his competition might be someone else. Weasley, no less.

"What happened?"

"We basically spent the last seven years bickering and dancing around the subject, and then, during the final battle, we kissed. Right before we ran into you in the Room of Requirement, actually."

Draco fought down the wave of protective rage that swept over him at the thought of the gangly redhead entangled with Hermione. "You kissed? Is that all?"

She nodded. "After the battle, we were both dealing with so much, and with Fred gone…" her voice stumbled over the name before trailing off, her face a mask of grief.

"Fred Weasley? One of the twins who opened the joke shop?" Draco hadn't known Ron had lost a brother, but his memory of the Weasley family after the battle now made a lot more sense.

Hermione continued in a hushed voice. "Yes. He was killed just after we left you and Goyle; we were all there for it. One minute he was laughing, dueling and reconnecting with his brother Percy, the next…"

"I'm sorry."

She squeezed her eyes shut, visibly reigning in her emotions. "Well, after that, things with Ron just haven't been the same. He's not handling the loss very well; none of them are."

Draco tried to wrap his brain around the idea of a brother. The entire Weasley family was basically the complete opposite of his own; he couldn't really imagine what it would be like to be part of it. And then to lose a member like that, the once-strong family never really being whole again… He suddenly felt himself incapable of anger towards any of them. He was sure that would change if Ron tried to re-stake his claim on Hermione, though.

"Well, it's probably better that you haven't talked to him about us, then. I imagine he has quite enough to deal with already."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "That may be true, but Harry should know. It isn't fair to either of you for him to be kept in the dark about this."

"That's really your call. Just don't do anything because you think you owe it to _me, _alright?"

Hermione agreed, and resolved to change the subject. They'd dealt with enough reality for that day.

***

Harry was just sitting down to lunch when a very disheveled Hermione walked down the stairs and into the too-empty kitchen of Grimmauld Place. He took in her rumpled clothes—the same she'd worn to the trial the day before—and her nervous expression before bracing himself for her inevitable confession. He smiled at her fondly, sipping his pumpkin juice patiently while she gathered her courage.

A few minutes passed as Kreacher put together a plate for Hermione, who promptly started shoveling in her food in a disturbing simulation of Ron after quidditch practice. Harry watched with amusement, surreptitiously looking out for signs of asphyxiation. Ron might have perfected the art of eating his meals like a garbage disposal, but Hermione was inexperienced in these matters, and he'd hate for his friend to choke to death simply because she was desperate to keep her mouth full and incapable of conversation.

When their plates were empty and Hermione a delicate shade of green, Harry decided to prompt her. "Well? How was your evening?"

She looked for a moment like she was going to be sick all over the table, but instead of vomit, words came pouring out of her pale lips. "Harry, I'm dating Draco Malfoy--well, as much as one can 'date' while in a jail cell. The point is, we talk and kiss and well, other things…and I think I really do care for him, and him for me, but I feel so confused about everything, and I so don't want to hurt Ron, but I didn't _mean_ for any of this to happen, it just _did, _and it's so unexpectedly _wonderful, _Harry! He's not at all like he was in school; he's really sort of kind and clever and passionate and oh _god, _I think I might love him! I'm _losing my mind_, Harry, and I don't even think I want to find it again."

Harry's eyes were frozen wide in the wake of Hermione's verbal incontinence. She'd barely paused while speaking and was now heaving great, panicked breaths while her eyes filled with tears.

Before he could help it, Harry was laughing. Hermione looked utterly bemused by his reaction, but he just took her by her shoulders and pulled her to him for a hug. She finally relaxed, even laughing a moment with him before he quieted again.

Harry placed a kiss on the top of her head. "There now, feeling better?"

Hermione nodded silently against his chest, squeezing him tightly and thanking whatever power was listening, and not for the first time, for Harry James Potter.

**A/N: Sorry it's taken me so long to get this one up; this week has been painfully busy. I'm hoping I'll have more time to write this weekend. **

**Thanks, as always, for reading; your reviews make me absurdly happy!**


	10. Chapter Nine: Options

Disclaimer: I did not write the Harry Potter series. If I had, I assure you, it would have been much, much smuttier and not nearly so brilliant. Mad respect to J.K. Rowling.

Chapter Nine: Options

Hermione nervously paced the floor of her uncharacteristically messy bedroom, weaving her way through the discarded outfits littering the floor. She pulled her hair into a loose bun for the hundredth time, only to yank it down again and toss the hair band away unceremoniously. She stilled her frantic movements long enough to study herself in the floor-length mirror, surveying her flushed features. She practiced a dozen different expressions, but every look seemed to scream 'I let Draco Malfoy put his mouth in a _very _naughty and un-hygienic place yesterday, and god-damned if I didn't love every second of it!'

She let out a frustrated growl, burying her head in her hands. A soft knock at the door brought her out of her moping. "Yes?"

Harry peeked his head in, taking in the disturbed room with suppressed amusement. "You almost ready?" When her only response was another growl before flopping down on her bed, Harry picked his way across the cluttered room to sit beside her.

"You can't avoid him forever, you know. And wouldn't you rather see him in front of Molly, where you know he won't want to make a scene?"

Hermione raised herself onto her elbows to glare at Harry. "Since when has the presence of Molly Weasley ever _lessened_ the likelihood of a dramatic emotional display?"

Harry just laughed in response. "Touché. But come on, it won't be that bad. Besides, we haven't been over since…well, a while. We _have _to go, Hermione."

She looked away for a moment before speaking again. "They'll know. _He'll_ know."

Harry studied her carefully. "Know what? About you and Draco?" She nodded silently before collapsing back onto the bed, so Harry continued. "I don't see how, unless you've told someone other than me. I mean, it's not like Ron's some brilliant occlumens or anything."

She rolled onto her side to face him. "I just feel—"

"Guilty?" She nodded, unable to look him in the eye. "Well you shouldn't. You're not together; you never really were. Ron had nearly seven years to stake a claim, but he dropped the ball over and over again. Don't get me wrong; he's my best mate and all, but I know how difficult he can be." Harry shook his head thoughtfully. "I just want you to be happy, both of you."

"So, you really don't mind…about me and Draco?"

Harry looked slightly disgusted before replying. "Oh no, it's completely weird, but I'm not about to hold it against you or try and change your mind or anything. You're the smartest girl I know; I'm sure you know what you're doing."

Hermione felt comforted a bit. "Thanks, Harry."

"You're welcome. Now, get your cowardly little bottom out of bed and try for a little of that Gryffindor courage everyone's on about, yeah?"

Hermione grabbed her pillow and whacked him across the face with a satisfying 'thwump', knocking his glasses to the floor.

He just winked back at her. "There's my little lioness."

***

Dinner at the Burrow was a strange, unsettling affair. Things were almost the same; close, but with something subtle and intangible missing that threw the whole evening off just slightly, leaving everyone feeling uncomfortable and nervous.

Molly cooked a beautiful spread, but served it with an empty smile that never reached her eyes. Arthur welcomed them both warmly, yet he seemed so much older and frailer than he had just a month before. Ron, Ginny and Charlie joked and bickered like actors in a well-rehearsed play, dutifully playing the parts they knew so well. Bill had taken Fleur home to Shell Cottage, and neither Percy nor George spoke at all that evening. George seemed detached, his expression eerily empty behind laugh-less eyes.

Hermione thought her heart might collapse in on itself from the weight of it all. At times, she would clasp Harry's hand, gaining strength from the reassuring squeeze he would send her, a silent little message: 'I know. They'll be okay, they'll be okay…'

After pudding, Hermione excused herself to take a walk through the moonlit garden. She was standing alone, watching a pair of wrestling garden gnomes, when she heard approaching footsteps.

Ron tentatively stood beside her, studying her features. She looked over to him, offering a small smile.

He cleared his throat nervously. "Nice night."

"Mm, beautiful." She admired the sky, taking in the pale moon and bright stars behind wispy, silver clouds. She looked down when she felt Ron take her hand in his, threading long fingers between hers.

"Hermione…"

She tensed and started to pull away, but Ron held onto her hand, gently but firmly. "No, wait, I just need to say something." Hermione nodded for him to continue. "I know you need time, and I understand that, I do. I just need to make sure you know…well, everything. I've never really _said_ it and all, and I thought maybe I should. Say it, that is." He let out a heavy gust of air while he struggled for words.

"See, the thing is, I love you, Hermione. I have for a long time now. I know I'm a bit of a prat sometimes, and I don't really deserve you and all, but I thought you should know. See, you're sort of wonderful, and powerful and brilliant and beautiful and kind, and well…I love you."

Hermione stared at the moon while he spoke, chest aching and eyes burning with unshed tears. She couldn't bring herself to respond; she didn't even know _how_ to respond, let alone how to _feel._

Ron watched the emotions play out across her face. He released her hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek, whispering "I just thought you should know."

Hermione closed her eyes at the contact, her feelings raging against one another beneath the surface. When she opened her eyes again, she was alone again in the overgrown garden, the moon shining down on her like a mournful gray eye.

***

Draco sat alone in his cell, morosely picking at his cold, bland dinner. He thought of Hermione at the Weasleys'. He thought of the large family, their warmth, their passion, their honor and courage. He thought of all of the things Ron Weasley could offer her that he could not. He thought of the future she would share with the temperamental redhead; they would be one of the most celebrated couples in Britain, second only to Potter and the Weaslette. Draco knew that even if he managed to escape a prison sentence, his social standing was destroyed. He would have to live as an outcast, hidden away in his manor like the coward he was.

He gave up on eating and climbed into bed. He lay awake for hours, contemplating the future, Hermione, and whether or not he was too selfish to let her have the life she deserved.

**A/N: So, yes. I've been experiencing technical difficulties that are **_**hopefully**_** under control now. I actually wrote this chapter by hand, which is probably why it turned out to be so short. Sorry. I'll get to work on ch. 10 right away. Thanks for reading; reviews rock my socks off!**


	11. Chapter Ten: Letting go and Holding on

Disclaimer: I own nothing, NOTHING I SAY! Well, that's not quite true…I own some things, but nothing nearly so valuable nor so wonderful as Harry Potter.

Chapter Ten: Letting go and Holding on

The next morning Hermione returned to the ministry and Draco with a heavy heart. She kept going over and over her encounter with Ron, trying to sort out her feelings on the matter. She cursed Ron's unfortunate timing, knowing how simple things could have been for the two of them if he had simply told her how he felt a year ago. At that time, her heart had seemed so clear, her desires so expected. She knew exactly what life with Ron would be like, and there was comfort in the relative predictability of that life. She loved his family and would have been honored to join their ranks; she loved _him_, in all of his childish, thoughtless, yet truly kind and courageous splendor. She loved him _still,_ and a part of her still longed for that life.

And then, of course, there was Draco.

Draco, who seemed to be Ron's opposite on so many levels. Draco, who offered _only _the unexpected. Draco, who was still surprising her every day. Draco, who made her blood boil and her hands shake. Her responses to him were so _raw,_ she hardly recognized herself around him.

If she were expected to choose between the two, she knew what the smart choice would be, the safe choice. Unfortunately, her body was currently warring with her mind on the subject, screaming to forget stability and choose passion. Her mind, meanwhile, was busy categorizing and analyzing the pros and cons of each potential relationship, weighing each factor based on cool logic and reason. Logic had never failed her before; she had no reason to believe it would do so now. She was so caught up in her great internal debate that she failed to notice that half an hour had gone by in complete silence, as well as the fact that Draco was watching her closely, seeming to interpret her thoughts effortlessly.

And he was. Hermione was not _incapable_ of dishonesty or concealing her true thoughts; she was in fact perfectly adequate at deception when the occasion warranted it. It just so happened that she was making no efforts to do so that afternoon, so Draco could almost _hear _her inner monologue. He watched the battle rage on across her lovely features and was privately fighting a battle of his own.

Draco wanted her. Not just physically, and not just for the time being; he wanted her. Always. He wanted her voracious intellect, her inexplicable compassion, her unfathomable courage, her unshakable integrity. He wanted to hold her, to teach her, to learn from her, to cherish her. He'd seen more good in three weeks of Hermione Granger than in the combined 18 years of his life spent without her. She was the light of the world, shining brightly in his once-dim corner, and he never wanted to let her go.

However.

He loved her. It seemed so pathetic and absurd to have come to such a conclusion after only three weeks, but he did. How could he not? But, as Draco was finally beginning to learn, loving someone means putting them first. It means forgetting and forgoing all of your own wants and desires to give that one person everything they deserve and more. And one thing was certainly clear to Draco; Hermione deserved so much more than him.

So he watched her emotional battle while fighting one of his own. Should he tell her everything, selfishly hoping she'll choose him, despite everything, or should he remain silent and leave her to Weasley? Had he changed so much in three weeks that he would give her up without a fight? That he would completely ignore the pull in his chest and the itch in his arms begging him to keep her? Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, depending on one's position on the subject, fate intervened and his decision was made for him before he could even comprehend what he was doing.

Hermione let loose a sudden little sneeze, tossing her curls forward and cupping her delicate hands around her mouth. The movement served to free her from her trance, and she looked at Draco before uttering a quiet "Pardon."

Draco was done for. He cupped her face and crushed his lips to hers, swallowing the shocked little "Oh!" before it had completely left her lips. He kissed her tenderly, reverently; desperate to convey everything he was feeling with just his touch. She responded with a contented sigh before wrapping her small arms around his neck, pulling herself closer until she was sitting directly in his lap, her chest pressed tight against his.

Hermione's brain had been effectively shut off for the time being. She was all nerve endings and taste and smell, drowning in her passion, her _need_. She kissed him, giving back all he was offering and more, running her hands over his body, committing the feel of him to memory. She was no longer analytical, no longer thoughtful or reasonable, she was a _woman_ and she _needed_. As she let go of her inhibitions, her practicality, she felt lighter, freer, and simply _brazen_. She pulled back from the kiss, fixing Draco with an intense stare, and then grabbed her shirt by the hem and pulled it up and over her head, dropping her curly locks back onto her bare shoulders.

Draco was stunned into stillness for approximately half a second before his lips were on her collar, his hands stroking the smooth skin of her stomach and on up to her silk-covered breasts. She let out a breathy moan when he bit lightly at the thin skin of her neck, arching her back while she reached behind herself to unclasp the soft, black garment, letting him pull it away and fling it to the floor.

Taking full advantage of her unanticipated boldness, Hermione pushed Draco back until he was lying flat against the cot and she sat straddling him, topless and panting. Draco's eyes were wide with shock as he took her in, his own breathing ragged, his pale cheeks tinged with pink.

Hermione scooted back, keeping her eyes locked on his, before tucking her fingers under the waistband of his pants and tugging down. Draco automatically lifted himself to aid her movements, shocked and unaware of her intentions. When she started to lower her head, however, he shot a hand out to her shoulder, stopping her.

She raised her head to look at him with questioning eyes that still burned with passion. He had to clear his throat before he could speak to her.

"Hermione, you don't have to."

Her eyes narrowed infinitesimally, but lost none of their heat. "Are you telling me 'no'?" Her voice sounded sultry and almost dangerous, and Draco felt his cock twitch in response.

He gulped audibly in reply, but didn't say anything else. Hermione slowly lowered her head again, keeping her eyes glued to his, watching his response. When the only change she noticed was his breath speeding and his eyes clouding over, she smirked at him once before running her tongue up the length of his cock. She took him in her mouth, running her tongue around his head before lowering around his shaft, sucking gently on the way back up. She used her hand to stroke him as she worked, marveling at the unique textures. His skin was silky smooth, stretched tight over his rock-hard length. Draco's hands twisted themselves in her hair, tugging gently, and she moaned in response, sending warm vibrations through him. Hermione's body was in control now, and she was reeling under sensory overload.

Draco was completely enraptured by her every movement, every look, every sound. He couldn't take his eyes off her; seeing her pert little mouth wrapped around him was the single most erotic thing he'd ever witnessed. Period. A very, very small part of his brain was wondering how she was so good at this, but the overwhelming majority was simply caught up in the intense feelings of the moment. And they were intense.

After a while she felt him grow impossibly harder, his grip on her hair tightening, so she increased her pace and her efforts, now taking him in until she could feel his weeping head bumping the back of her throat. He tugged back on her tangled hair, trying to pull her off before his climax, but she simply gripped him harder, running her tongue in dizzying circles around him until he came hard in her mouth with a low oath.

She swallowed his cum, gently sucking him clean while his body relaxed and his breathing slowed. When she'd finished, she sat up with a flourish, wiped her chin and said with a cheeky grin, "There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Draco looked up at her in shock before pulling her down to lay on top of him, laughing breathlessly. "_Merlin,_ Hermione! You certainly are a surprising little thing, aren't you?"

She just shrugged and nestled into his chest, breathing in his scent and letting it relax her, body and soul. She hadn't actually worked out her earlier internal conflicts, but her body had made its opinion on the subject unequivocally clear. Her mind was still leaning towards the 'safe' option, but her heart appeared to be torn down the middle. She decided to actually _not_ decide anything just then and simply enjoy the moment.

Draco ran his hands in long, gentle strokes from the top of her head, through her wild hair, and down her bare back. He'd just proven to himself how selfish he could be in regards to Hermione Granger, and he was struggling with some serious guilt over the matter. Just when he'd been thinking he could actually give her up for her own good, he let her do _that_ to him, and dear _god_ had he enjoyed it!

He began to imagine a life with the tenacious little witch atop him, spending every night just like this; holding her, kissing her, touching her, _loving_ her whenever he wanted. He pictured curly, sandy blond-headed children running through the Manor gardens. Family picnics, story time by the hearth, days filled with laughter and nights filled with warmth. The whole thing hinted at something bigger, something elusive and intangible…happiness. He could be happy with Hermione Granger. Hermione Malfoy. Draco and Hermione Malfoy. Mrs. Draco Malfoy—no, she would probably hate being called that. He smiled widely to himself, _in spite_ of himself and his residual guilt. He decided to let that guilt go. He may have changed, but he was still a Malfoy, and he refused to feel guilty over having what he wanted. He wouldn't scheme, he wouldn't manipulate, he would just let her choose. And if she chose him, he would live his life to make her happy.

**A/N: Reviews make Hermione brazen. **


	12. Chapter Eleven: Coming Out

Disclaimer: "I am not J.K. Rowling. I do not own Harry Potter." My therapist insists that I chant this every night in front of the mirror…smug bastard.

Chapter Eleven: Coming Out

Hermione spent the next few days in a stalemate with herself. When she thought about the situation with Draco and Ron, she continued to feel confused, conflicted, and generally incapable of making a decision. So, she did what any 18 year-old girl would do; she procrastinated. And, of course, she snogged Draco within an inch of his life.

This was how the rest of the week progressed; the pair of them reading, kissing, and altogether avoiding reality. Soon they were visited by Barrister Waverly in preparation for Narcissa's trial. Draco was basically supposed to testify that his mother never actually _did_ anything and only harbored the Death Eaters at her husband's insistence. She never took the mark, she never went on a raid or performed any dark rituals, murders or torture sessions. She really had no business being in that courtroom at all, much less locked in a prison cell.

It turns out that, much as in Draco's case, Waverly's 'Ace in the hole' was Harry. Harry planned to testify that Narcissa lied to Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest, saving his life. Draco was beginning to recognize the severity of the debt he would owe Potter once everything was over, and was feeling mildly curious about how he would repay it. He seriously doubted he ever could.

***

The night before Narcissa's trial, Draco was anxious and fidgety. Hermione eventually gave up all pretense of having a normal evening and just sat quietly, waiting for the flood gates to open.

"This is complete _bollocks_!" His exclamation came from nowhere, and although she was expecting it, Hermione still jumped about a foot off the bed. He turned and looked to her in apology. "Sorry, it's just…you know."

"Yes, Draco, I know."

Draco rose from his seat on the bed to begin pacing, endlessly running his hands through his fine blond hair. "None of this was her _fault_, and she could actually end up in Azkaban. _Azkaban!_ My _mother_, rotting away in that vile prison!"

"That won't happen, Draco."

"But you don't know—none of us do. They could convict her just for _spite_, just to put people like us, rich, arrogant purebloods, in our _place_. Narcissa Black Malfoy at their complete mercy; I'll bet they're loving it!"

Hermione reached a hand out and caught hold of his shirt when he passed her again. She pulled gently and he huffed once before crawling onto the cot with her, the pair of them stretching out, chests together, legs entangled, arms wrapped around one another.

"Draco, I know you're scared for her, but you have to have a little faith. Waverly knows what she's doing, and with yours and Harry's testimonies, I'm sure she'll be fine."

Draco closed his eyes, exhaling a large gust of air. "Faith, huh?"

"Yes. Everything will be fine."

"You realize you are absurdly optimistic, yes?"

She paused, considering his words. "No, I'm not. Not really. I just don't see the point in driving yourself mad over something you have such little control over. There's nothing more we can do—things will either work out fine, or they won't. We'll know which soon enough."

"Well, that's encouraging."

"That's reality. Get over it. She wouldn't want you working yourself up like this anyway."

Draco studied her calm expression. Hermione was right, of course. But more than that, he was seeing something new in her; she really _wasn't_ a hopeless idealist. How could she be, after everything she'd seen and done? She'd faced some pretty bleak realities, but she never let it turn her into the cold, bitter soul you expect to come out of such scenarios. She obviously worked tirelessly to maintain her positive, encouraging attitude, even when she knew encouragement to be entirely futile. Add yet another trait to the already impressive list of things to be admired about Hermione Granger.

"Alright, fine, but you have to distract me." He plastered a playful smirk on his features, half meaning to provoke her into playfulness herself, half to cover up the depth of the emotion he was currently drowning in.

Her eyes caught up a familiar glint, and she tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm…I'm sure I can come up with something."

Draco growled playfully before rolling on top of her and planting fevered kisses along her chin and neck. There was no more talking that night.

***

Hermione was, of course, right. Draco had yet to really see Barrister Waverly in action, her role in his father's trial being severely limited by his choice of plea, but he got to see her take full command of the courtroom when his mother's trial began the next morning. The woman was certainly impressive, to say the least. She worked her way through various witnesses, including Draco himself, steering their testimonies towards supporting her opening statements regarding Narcissa's unwilling and unwanted involvement with the Death Eaters. Despite the hostility and ferocity with which the prosecuting lawyer went after the delicate Mrs. Malfoy, Waverly's cool composure kept the trial on track flawlessly.

Throughout all of it, Hermione sat quietly across the chamber from Draco, expression smooth and features unreadable, until Harry took the stand. The collective gasp and rush of quieted exclamations reverberated off the rough stone walls when the Boy Who Lived strode confidently to his seat at the witness interrogation stand.

The tension and curiosity of the crowd was palpable, but Draco had eyes only for Hermione. She sat rigid in her seat, eyes focused on her friend, studying his expressions, his body language, with intense concern and anxiety. She was clearly very worried about Potter, or very distressed about something, and Draco made a mental note to himself to ask her why when they were alone again.

Barrister Waverly questioned Harry, having him recount the events that took place in the Forbidden Forest just after he awoke from yet another failed Avada Kedavra. When he'd told his story, Waverly asked him why Narcissa might have lied then, knowing it would surely cost her her life if Voldemort knew.

Harry looked over to Narcissa as he responded. "I reckon she did it for Draco. It was pretty clear then that's all she really cared about; not the war, not blood status, not Voldemort, just Draco. She looked positively terrified for him."

This statement drew Draco's eyes from the strange expression Hermione wore, down first to Potter, gazing compassionately at his mother, and then across to Narcissa, who seemed to be working very hard to keep her composure. He was hit with a sudden overwhelming urge to comfort her, but was held at bay by the surrounding aurors and the sobering reminder of his own precarious position.

Waverly finished her questioning, turning her witness over to the prosecution; a stodgy little man with red, watery eyes, a receding hairline, and a small, feral smile that made Draco want to either set something on fire or sick all over himself. He watched with barely suppressed rage as the prosecutor, Barrister Hannah, tore into Harry, trying to draw his anger out and direct it at the frail blonde woman sitting at the side table with Waverly. He pushed and pushed, bringing up every incident most likely to insight Harry's fury, from Dumbledore's death to the night at Malfoy Manor, but Harry maintained his composure with uncharacteristic restraint. Until, of course, Hannah pulled out his last-ditch effort at swaying or, at the very least, discrediting the Chosen One.

"Mr. Potter, are you aware of the nature of the relationship between the accused's son, Draco Malfoy, and your own friend, Hermione Granger?" The smile widened just a bit at the same time as Harry's eyes, a brief flicker of shock betraying the cool exterior he had maintained throughout the proceedings.

Harry cleared his throat once, twice. "I am. Although, I have to wonder why _you_ would be, seeing as how it has nothing to do with your case and is, in fact, _none of your business."_

Hannah looked a bit disappointed by this response, but covered it well. Waverly made a motion to dismiss this line of questioning based on irrelevancy, but the Chief Warlock decided to permit it.

The venomous little man continued in a self-satisfied voice. "Please describe, for the record, the relationship between Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger."

Harry looked up from his seat to meet Hermione's eyes. They seemed to communicate silently for a moment, a series of small gestures and looks that were meaningless to everyone else present, but seemed to decide something between them as Hermione sent him a small shrug and a smile.

Harry turned back to Barrister Hannah with ill-concealed contempt and a carefully cheerful smile. "I believe the nature of their relationship to be romantic, though I'm a bit remiss on the, er…finer details."

Draco became aware of muttered whispers circulating in the large chamber and countless eyes flitting between himself and Hermione.

"Romantic in nature, you say? Well, well, how _convenient_ for Mr. Malfoy and his mother that Miss Granger happened to take interest just in time for their criminal investigations. And, that she has such _influential_ friends who are willing to take up for her new lover and his dubious relations."

Harry's cheeks were positively scarlet now, and his eyes were flashing dangerously at the pompous man before him. "Just what, _exactly_, are you implying?"

"Oh, I'm simply wondering just how mutually _beneficial_ this little arrangement really is. These degenerate Death Eater scumbags get the testimonies of two of Britain's most famous war heroes in return for what, exactly? Money? This particular family has enough to suit _both_ your needs, I'll warrant. Or perhaps Miss Granger's repayment is more of a primal, _physical_ nature?"

Harry and Draco both leapt from their seats at this last jibe, eyes blazing and fists clenched. The aurors around Draco gave him a warning look, at which he reluctantly took his seat again, but Harry was seemingly unaware of anyone in the room besides the contemptible man before him.

When he spoke, his voice was soft, quietly controlled but all the more threatening for it. "Listen to me now, because I will only say this once. Hermione Granger is quite possibly the most morally conscious person I've ever met. Her character is above reproach or doubt, especially by the likes of _you._ She has fought _long_ and _hard_ to secure the freedom and safety of everyone in this room, and I will **not** tolerate such unprovoked and unwarranted disrespect directed at her from _anyone whatsoever_."

Harry took a moment to look around the room, locking eyes with some of the more astonished wizards present, before continuing in a stronger tone. "I came here today to _tell the truth,_ but I'm more than accustomed to people like you, important, influential people, ignoring me, attacking my character, and positively _deluding_ yourselves only to keep from recognizing something difficult or inconvenient even as it's shoved right in your important faces."

His expression softened and he let out a weary sigh before continuing his address, still standing before his toppled chair. "I know how much you lost—how much _we_ lost during the war. I know you're angry, you're frustrated, and you _need_ someone to blame, someone to hold accountable. I _know that._ I _feel_ it. But these people," he gestured to a wide-eyed Narcissa and the still flushed form of Draco above him. "These people are not deserving of your anger. You have your facts, now you need to face them and _move on._"

The chamber was utterly silent, whether in honest recognition or angry indignation, Draco couldn't tell.

Harry turned to the astonished face of Barrister Hannah, who was obviously still reeling over being properly scolded by a boy a third his age in front of the entire wizengamot. "Are we finished, then?" Without waiting for a response, Harry muttered "Brilliant," nodded curtly to the wizengamot, and walked calmly and confidently to the floor-level exit.

Draco lifted his eyes to search out Hermione's. Her face was positively shining with pride and righteous anger. She sent him a fierce smile, which was partially reflected in his own shocked expression, before both their attentions were drawn to the muttering and rustling of the wizengamot.

The Chief Warlock cleared his throat and addressed the Barristers. "Will there be anything further?"

Waverly shook her head confidently, a smirk barely detectable beneath her stoic features. "The defense rests."

Hannah just looked around in frustration before shaking his head with small, jerky movements.

"Very well. All in favor of conviction?" Several hands rose unsteadily into the air. Draco counted only seven. _Seven._ "All in favor of acquittal?" The chamber echoed with the rustling of fabric as countless black-robed arms lifted in unison. The Chief Warlock looked around briefly before concluding, "Narcissa Malfoy, the court finds you not guilty of all charges. You are free to go."

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews make me tingle.**


	13. Chapter Twelve: Confessions

Disclaimer: Trust me; suing me would be a complete waste of time. Like everything else I do, I am not making any money off of this story.

Chapter Twelve: Confessions

Hermione strolled casually through the streets of muggle London with her arm linked through Harry's. They'd left Draco and Narcissa at the ministry to spend some much-needed time alone together. It was not lost on Hermione that the first thing Narcissa chose to do upon being pardoned was to walk even further into the Death Eater containment center to spend yet another day in a small, cold cell. She really was dedicated to her son, and that gave Hermione hope.

She and Harry hadn't really spoken to each other yet, choosing instead to walk together in comfortable silence. Hermione kept going over the things he'd said at the trial and was trying to put words to her gratitude. Everything she could think of to say seemed inadequate, somehow.

All at once, she couldn't hold off anymore and, twisting quickly to face him, she threw her arms around Harry in an embrace that was almost violent in its suddenness. Harry staggered slightly under her attack, but quickly steadied himself and wrapped his arms around her small waist, lifting her completely off the ground and giving her an affectionate squeeze.

Hermione finally found her voice, though it was muffled slightly by Harry's shoulder. "Thank you, Harry! That was…you were…just brilliant. _Brilliant._"

Harry lowered her to the ground again and drew back to flash an embarrassed smile at her. "Supper?" He pointed to a café a block ahead, and Hermione just nodded silently.

They linked arms again and continued on to the small restaurant, sitting across from one another at a quiet booth in the back. They were both grateful to be away from the wizarding community for now, enjoying anonymity amongst the muggles. They ordered drinks and dinner and were well into their meal before speaking of anything consequential.

Harry addressed her without looking up from his pasta. "You'll have to tell Ron, you know."

Hermione nodded, setting her fork down. "I know. I'd hate for him to hear it from someone else."

"Tonight?"

She let out an apprehensive sigh. "Tonight."

The rest of the meal was spent in easy conversation, avoiding for the moment the dramatics of the day.

***

Draco sat on his cot, his arms wrapped securely around his mother's petite form. She'd finally calmed herself, her sobs lessening to gentle sniffs and deep breaths.

"Tell me about her, Draco."

Draco looked down in surprise to see her gazing up at him curiously. He searched her features for a hint of disapproval or disappointment, but found only cautious interest. "She's very clever, brightest in our class." Narcissa nodded, so he continued. "She's also quite good; very brave and conscientious. She helped Harry bring down the Dark Lord; I doubt he'd have done it at all without her."

Narcissa eyed him shrewdly. "Yes, that's lovely dear, but you're not telling me anything I couldn't have learned in the _Prophet._ Tell me about _her_, Draco."

Draco huffed once before continuing. "She smells wonderful, like something light and vaguely citrus, maybe grapefruit. She's very dignified and collected, but can be unexpectedly passionate and an absolute spit-fire about any of her many causes."

Narcissa was smiling up at him, now, watching his unguarded expression as he spoke.

"When we were at school, I always thought her to be overly serious and a bit of a stick in the mud, but I realize she may have just had her guard up every time I was around, and with good reason; I was horrible to her. Now, I've seen her playful side. She can really be quite funny when she wants to be."

"Has she had many boyfriends, dear?" Narcissa was looking concerned now, a small crease forming between her pale brows.

"No, Mother—she's not like that at all. I mean, she was briefly involved with Victor Krum fourth year…"

"No, Draco, you misunderstand me. I know she's not some sort of harlot, that's not what I'm concerned about at all."

"Then what are you concerned about?"

Narcissa looked at her son carefully, considering her words. "You care a great deal for her." It was not a question, so he did not respond. "It all seems a bit fast, and I have to wonder if she really knows what she's getting herself into."

Draco looked puzzled and a little hurt by this statement, so she continued. "You have so much of your father in you. We knew each other vaguely while growing up, but when we were reintroduced as young adults, it took him all of a day to decide he wanted me, and not just physically, dear, but forever. He proposed less than a month into our courtship."

Draco had never heard his mother speak so candidly about his parents' relationship before, and he'd never really wondered about how they'd gotten together. He'd assumed the marriage was arranged.

"I was, of course, completely entranced by him, but the offer stunned me none-the-less. I eventually accepted, as you know, but it was still difficult for me. I do not regret my decision; even after everything that's happened, I love your father. But you need to realize that that was a different time, and I was a much different sort of girl than your Hermione. She seems a very strong, very self-reliant person, and I'm sure marriage at 18 is not something she has imagined for herself."

Draco was now blushing a bit and muttering under his breath about proposals and marriage.

"Don't bother, dear, you can't fool your mother. I know you care for her and I can see how much you've already committed yourself to her. You should have seen your face in that courtroom!" Draco started to interrupt her then, feeling the need to defend his reactions, but she silenced him with one delicate hand. "Don't think I disapprove, not that it would matter much if I did. I just don't want you to go about this the wrong way and scare her away."

"Okay…so, what's the right way, then?"

"Well first off, you need to recognize the choices she's already made for herself. What are her plans, now? What does she want to do with her life?"

Draco, feeling properly chagrined at never having thought to ask, kept silent.

"I see. Well, you need to find the answers to those questions, because Hermione is not the sort of girl to change who she is or sacrifice what she wants for a boy—no matter how handsome and charming he may be."

Draco regarded his mother, taking in her slightly wistful expression. "And what about you, Mother? What did you want before you married father?"

She drew herself up a bit before responding. "I wanted to be a healer. I was half-way through my first year of studies when your father proposed."

Draco was a bit shocked by her revelation. He'd never considered his mother's life outside of her role as wife and mother; he'd never imagined her to be so personally ambitious. "That's…well that's quite impressive, Mother. Healing schools require fairly exceptional NEWT scores, don't they?"

She nodded proudly. "Seven 'outstandings' and two 'exceeds expectations.'"

Draco shook his head softly, smiling at her and, for the first time, imagining a very young Narcissa with a bright future ahead of her. "Why haven't you told me this before?"

"It doesn't really matter, Draco. I never wanted you to think I resented my life—that I resented _you._ You are the best, the most meaningful thing that's ever happened to me." She gave him a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek to emphasize her point.

"Thank you. I'll consider what you've said about Hermione." He paused a moment, debating just how much he should confide. He still felt reservations about opening up too much, but he continued in a small voice. "I don't want to lose her."

Narcissa sighed, patting her suddenly very grown-up son's cheek gently. "I know, dear, I know."

***

Back at Grimmauld Place, Hermione and Harry were anxiously awaiting the arrival of the youngest Weasleys. As a means of distracting herself, Hermione picked up the _Daily Prophet_ lying unopened on the kitchen table. The cover article featured a picture of Hogwarts Castle, damaged after the final battle. She had to choke back tears at the sight of her favorite building sporting gaping, jagged holes where walls had been blown away and shattered stained glass windows. The grounds were littered with refuse from the destruction, and she could just make out Dumbledore's tomb, gleaming white next to the lake. She took a moment to thank whatever higher power was listening that it had been repaired the day after the battle, Harry having placed the Elder Wand back in the hands of their beloved Headmaster.

Her eyes finally traveled to the title of the article: "Hogwarts Repairs Underway, Reopening for New School Year." She quickly read the article, not even noticing as Harry came and stood behind her, reading over her shoulder. Professor McGonagall, once again Headmistress, was overseeing reconstruction and preparing to accept students back on the first of September. Further in the article came the announcement that McGonagall was inviting all seventh years from the previous year to return for a proper finish to their education. Hermione figured all of last year's students would have much catching up to do after the sham of an education they'd received under Death Eater control, not to mention the muggle-borns who had not been permitted to attend at all.

She finished the article and sat back, finally noticing Harry's similar focus. They turned to look at one another as Harry moved to sit next to her.

"Hogwarts." Harry seemed a bit dumbstruck.

"Hm. I'm glad they're reopening. I'm not sure I expected it to happen so soon, but I suppose life goes on."

Harry nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Will you go back?"

She thought about it for a moment before coming to the only conclusion that made any sense to her. "Yes. Yes, of course I'll go back." Harry nodded again, looking conflicted now. "I know it won't be the same, and it will be hard facing all of those memories every day, but it's Hogwarts. It's our education. We have to go back—we owe it to ourselves."

Harry let out a heavy sigh. "You're right. It's just…hard."

"I know, Harry. But everyone we lost there…they'd want us to keep going, you know?"

Harry's eyes looked suspiciously wet, and he avoided her gaze as he nodded wordlessly. She knew what he was thinking about, or rather, _who._ Dumbledore. Fred. Lupin and Tonks. These last two brought to mind Harry's newest responsibility. "Have you heard from Andromeda? How's little Teddy doing?"

Harry surreptitiously wiped his eyes on his sleeve while he responded. "Talked to her this morning; she was at the trial, you know."

"What? I didn't see her."

"She was under a glamour. She didn't want Narcissa to see her, but she couldn't _not_ go."

Hermione hadn't really remembered until now that Narcissa and Andromeda were, in fact, sisters, even if they hadn't spoken in decades.

"Anyway, Teddy is fine. I'm going to see him tomorrow morning if you'd like to come."

"Yes, Harry, I'd love that." Harry was taking his responsibilities as godfather seriously, even though he was ill-equipped to care for the still very young baby on his own. Andromeda was happy to shoulder the majority of the responsibility for the very last of her family. Hermione reflected on everything the elder Tonks had lost and resolved to befriend her as best she could.

Just then, the fire burned green and Ginny stepped through, followed closely by Ron. They walked over to where Harry and Hermione sat; Ginny sliding in next to Harry, and Ron settling across from Hermione. They both looked at the paper without surprise, having read the same article that morning.

Ginny looked from the article to Harry, to Hermione and back. "So…are you two going back? I assume that's what this little meeting is supposed to be about."

Harry shook his head, and her expression fell. "No, I mean 'no that's not why we asked you here.' We are going back."

Ron looked up at Harry. "Both of you?" Harry nodded, and Ron let his eyes fall back to the table top.

"What's up, Ron?" Harry didn't miss the look of disappointment on his friend's freckled face.

Ron muttered something unintelligible before Ginny clarified his mumblings. "Ron's decided to help George out in the joke shop."

"Oh, well I think that's a brilliant idea!"

Ron looked sheepishly up at Harry. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm sure he needs all the help he can get right now, and Britain still really needs Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. We could all use a little comedy in our lives right about now, yeah?"

Hermione studied her friends quietly. She wasn't truthfully that surprised at Ron's decision; he'd never enjoyed school very much, and she suspected he could be quite happy working with his brother. Returning to Hogwarts without Ron would be weird and more than a little heart-breaking, but she had a feeling _everything_ about going back would feel that way.

Ginny let the boys have their little moment before voicing her curiosity. "Well, if this isn't about school, then what's going on?"

Harry looked at Hermione, seemingly urging her to speak. She took a deep breath, looking from one friend to the next, before steeling her resolve. "Well, I needed to tell you something." Ron turned to her, making eye contact for the first time since his arrival. Her voice was shaking slightly when she continued. "It's about me…and, um, Draco Malfoy."

Ron's eyes narrowed and Ginny shifted anxiously in her seat, waiting for her friend to continue. After a minute or two of awkward silence, Ginny prompted her. "Well?"

Hermione wrung her hands, her hazel eyes flitting about the room. "We're um, we're sort of…"

"Dating." Harry said the word as casually as he could, but Ginny didn't miss that his arm had wound itself around Hermione's waist in a show of silent support.

Ron blinked once, twice, and still was silent.

Ginny felt obliged to interrupt the frightening little staring contest before anyone's head exploded. "Oh. Well, that's, um, surprising." _Not really,_ her subconscious mind supplied.

"Yes." Hermione's voice was weak, her expression anxious.

"How long?" Ron seemed to have finally found his voice, and it was just as weak as hers.

"A couple weeks, maybe."

He nodded silently. "Is that why you…?"

"No. I had no idea—I never expected any of this."

Ron eyed her a moment longer before quietly standing and turning for the floo.

"Ron?" Hermione's eyes were filling with tears, her hands reaching involuntarily towards him.

Ron addressed her plea without turning back. His voice was suspiciously rough, but his words were gentle. "I've got to go right now. I'll talk to you later, yeah?" She responded with a small sob, at which he finally turned back to look at her. She was crying openly now, not heeding the tears rolling over her cheeks and down her pale neck.

He quickly strode to her side, kneeling and taking her in his arms. She clung pitifully to his neck, her face pressed into his chest. He shushed her softly, stroking her hair while trying to hold back his own tears. He couldn't think properly. His chest was aching and his head was spinning, but all that really mattered was the look on her face, the hurt in her eyes.

He pulled back, tilting her head up to look at him and drying her cheeks with his rough thumbs. "Don't cry, 'Mione. It'll be okay…it'll be alright, just don't cry."

She sniffed and whispered her quiet apology, feeling its inadequacy in the pit of her stomach. "I'm sorry."

He nodded, kissed her on the nose, and pulled her to him for a hug. "I_ will_ be back, 'Mione. I promise." Then he disentangled himself from her and strode to the floo. He did not look at Harry and Ginny where they sat quietly at the table. He did not look at Hermione, shivering slightly on the floor. He did not look at the picture on the mantle of three best friends, clad in Hogwarts robes and laughing at some long-forgotten joke. He tossed a pinch of floo powder into the flames, called his destination and was gone.

**A/N: I realize that may not have been quite the explosive scene everyone was expecting, but that's just how it came out. I have my reasons!**

**Thank you SO much for your reviews—each one is treasured and greatly appreciated, even if I haven't had time to respond to all of them lately. I figured you'd rather I spent that time getting this next chapter out, right? Right.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chapter Thirteen: Declarations

Disclaimer: I totally own Harry Potter. Ok, no not really. If I did, Sirius wouldn't be dead. Or Dumbledore, or Snape, or Fred, or Remus, Tonks, Dobby, Cedric, etc. etc. You get the picture.

Chapter Thirteen: Declarations

Hermione entered Draco's cell just before lunch the next day carrying her usual picnic basket and two copies of _the Daily Prophet_. Draco was sitting in bed, holding a book but not really reading it, instead just staring blankly at the pages. He looked up when she arrived, flashing a brilliant smile and rising to greet her with a hug and a brief kiss.

Hermione returned his embrace and sighed into the kiss, lifting up onto her toes as he pulled back to drag it out a bit longer. He smiled wider at her response, but quickly picked up on the anxiety underlying her features.

"Everything alright, love?"

Hermione noted the term of endearment and was so busy contemplating its meaning that she forgot to respond.

Draco's brows furrowed in concern while he took in her vague, thoughtful expression. He lifted her chin so she was looking at him. "Hermione, what is it?"

She finally shook herself out of her silent contemplation and responded with slight embarrassment. "Oh, sorry. Nothing, it's nothing."

Draco just quirked an eyebrow at her in disbelief and sat down on the bed, pulling her down onto his lap. His hand worked its way through her thick hair to cup the back of her neck, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb. "You can talk to me, you know."

She sighed and leaned into his touch, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. "Ron knows."

Draco stiffened slightly, but quickly resumed his movements. "Oh? How did that go?" When she just shrugged, turning her head away so he could no longer see her face, he started to worry. "Did he hurt you?"

That got her facing him again. "No! No, of course not. He was just upset, is all. He was really very kind about the whole thing. Look, nothing happened, so there's really no point discussing it."

"Okay."

"Good. Thank you."

She looked so uncomfortable, and Draco could feel the tension in her neck and shoulders, so he turned them both and maneuvered Hermione until she was lying face-down on the bed. Just as she was about to ask him what on earth he was doing, he started massaging the muscles in her neck and back, loosening and plying them with sure fingers. She moaned softly at his touch, relaxing further into the bed and letting her eyes slip shut.

Draco continued to work on her, feeling only slightly guilty about the feelings of arousal her sounds of appreciation were stirring in him. After a few moments he decided to take his mother's advice from the night before.

"Hermione, what do you want to be?"

She was quiet a minute before responding. "I'm not really sure. I know I'd like to help people, so maybe I could work with charities, or go into social work. I've considered working for the ministry, seeing if I can't change the system a bit from the inside and all." Draco nodded; he could see her doing any of those things, and quite successfully at that.

"First, though…" she propped herself up enough to grab one of the papers she'd brought, handing it to Draco. He opened it, seeing a picture of Hogwarts on the front page. He quickly scanned the article, stopping when he read the bit about returning seventh years.

"You'll be finishing school, then?" Of course. Where else would she be?

"Yes. I was actually wondering if you would be going back…once you're freed, that is."

Draco was silent for a moment, during which he started working on her back again. "I hadn't thought about it. We don't actually know that I'll have the option of going back, you know."

Hermione just sighed. "You will." No room for argument, just the way it is.

He thought about Hogwarts, about going back, about second chances. "Hermione, I'd go wherever you are."

"Really?" Her voice was small and laced with insecurities.

He leaned over her until his mouth was hovering just above her ear. "Really."

She shivered lightly at the feel of his warm breath in her hair and the soft cadence of his voice. Draco still had one hand on her lower back, just touching the waist of her jeans. The other was positioned on the bed by her shoulder, holding himself above her. He lowered his mouth to her shoulder, kissing her softly through the thin material of her shirt. He shifted his body until he was lying on his side next to her and continued rubbing her back with his free hand.

She turned her head to face him and was stunned by the heat in his gaze. He leaned in, taking her lips in a slow burning kiss. She could feel his gentle movements reverberating through every bone in her body, heating her skin and making her limbs tremble.

Draco grasped the shoulder that was opposite him and turned her until her back was pressed tightly against his chest. He smoothed her hair back off of her neck so he could gently lick and suckle at the soft skin there, while his hand caressed from her shoulder down her arm, her waist and hips and back again. He made this route several times before moving his hand to explore her stomach, dipping under her shirt and sliding up to cup her breasts.

Hermione felt exposed and oddly aroused by their position. When Draco moved to unbutton her jeans she let out a soft gasp, allowing her eyes to travel down to watch as he touched her. He had stopped kissing her neck and was now focusing all his attention on the hand currently exploring her body. She could feel his hot, heavy breaths against her ear and his hard length pressed against her from behind as he slid his very talented hand into her now undone pants, slipping beneath the silky material of her knickers.

When he started stroking her, she turned her head so she could see his face. His expression took her breath away. His eyes were traveling over her body, focusing on his hand between her legs for a few minutes before roaming once again to take in every minute detail of her appearance. His expression was intense with need and affection and appreciation, and Hermione felt herself shaking beneath it.

Draco noticed her trembling and responded by slipping first one, then two fingers inside her while his thumb continued stroking her clit. She gasped and shuddered at the added sensation, trying to turn herself to face him, to press her body against his and hide herself from his view, but Draco was unrelenting. He was watching her body react to his with intense scrutiny and refused to relinquish his position until he had _seen_ her fall apart against him.

When she began making the little mewling sounds he knew so well, he knew she was close and doubled his efforts. Soon she was shaking hard, body tense and eyes screwed hut, holding herself from falling off the edge with determination. Draco sensed her struggle and leaned in until his mouth was barely touching her ear so he could whisper to her. "God, you're so beautiful, so beautiful…I want you to come for me, Hermione, come for me _now_." At his words, she raggedly gasped out his name while her body clenched and seized beneath him. He kissed her neck and shoulder gently while she caught her breath and relaxed against him.

"You're evil." The big, goofy grin on her face took all the heat out of the words, and Draco chuckled softly in response.

"Am I?" She nodded enthusiastically against his chest, so he bit her lightly on the shoulder, earning an indignant little yelp. She tried to swat at him, but he simply caught her wrist and held it while nuzzling his nose into her hair with a groan of appreciation.

"Mmm…you smell so _good_, why must you always smell so good?"

She shrugged. "Good personal hygiene? Blame my parents."

He laughed softly into her honey-brown hair, breathing in her soft, citrus scent.

"So, what do you want to be, Draco Malfoy? I was going to ask you earlier, but you distracted me."

"Yes, I am a fan of distractions. Maybe that's what I should do with myself; spend the rest of my life distracting _you_. Sounds promising."

He finally allowed her to turn and face him, and once she did she was studying his expression carefully. He went over what he'd just said and cursed himself mentally. Hadn't his mother _just _warned him against moving too fast, accused him of being over committed to Hermione? And here he was talking about the _rest of his life_ as though he'd promised it to her already. With a slight shock, he realized just how sincerely he meant what he'd said. It appeared he had inherited the Malfoy premature commitment gene along with his grey eyes and blond hair.

Hermione was still studying him, but he was unable to read her expression. He thought she might look hopeful, or possibly just confused. In an attempt to lighten the mood and shift her focus, he rested his mouth against her still flushed cheek and blew a loud, wet raspberry, earning a round of laughter and a definite shift in her mood.

"What was that for?" She looked puzzled, yet amused, and she slapped him playfully on the chest.

Draco just shrugged and did it again, spurring a brief tickling war that had them both gasping for breath after a few moments. Just as he was commending himself on his excellent diversionary tactics and starting to relax again, he opened his mouth and, without a moment's thought or hesitation, said the one thing he absolutely did _not_ mean to say.

"I love you, Hermione Granger."

**A/N: Review? I'll love you forever!**


	15. Chapter Fourteen: Dream a Little Dream

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, unfortunately.

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Luxorious (i.e. my friend Courtney), for giving me my 100th review! Much excitement!

Chapter Fourteen: Dream a Little Dream

Hermione stared, open-mouthed, pink-cheeked, and completely at a loss at the beautiful blond boy hovering over her. Draco's words from a moment before hung in the air in between them, making it nearly impossible for her to form coherent thoughts.

_I love you, Hermione Granger._

Draco's face was quickly losing its blush from the earlier tickling match, turning a startling shade of porcelain white. He worked his jaw silently, all the while watching Hermione's face closely to decipher her reaction.

They found their voices at the same time and were immediately speaking over one another.

"You do?"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't—wait, what?"

Hermione's blush deepened, and she tucked her head down until she was staring at his gray-clad chest, avoiding the piercing gray of his eyes. When she spoke again her voice was very small. "Did you mean it?"

Draco nodded at her, cleared his throat, and tried not to sound as terrified as he felt. "I do. I know it's too soon for me to be saying things like that, and you don't have to say anything back, but, well…there it is." Hermione blinked once and opened her mouth to respond, but Draco cut her off with a near-frantic attempt at diversion. "Let's eat lunch, then; I'm starved!"

He quickly moved from the bed to the floor, leaving Hermione with a slight chill in the absence of his body heat. She watched him hurriedly set out the contents of her picnic basket with a small frown. "Draco?"

"Hm?" He replied without looking at her, his focus remaining on the arrangement of food for their lunch.

"_Draco_?" The insistence of her tone finally caught his attention, and he turned to look at her. The expression he wore seemed so vulnerable; much more so than she had ever seen before. She found it odd that he could look more frightened now than he had the first time she'd visited him after his imprisonment, when he sat broken and huddled on the floor. She held her hand out to him, inviting him to come sit with her again. He hesitantly complied, and she immediately leaned into him, stretching one small arm across his chest.

"You just surprised me, is all."

"I know, I'm sorry—I really didn't mean to just blurt it out like that."

"Well, I think I like it better that way, really. It felt more…honest, than it might have if you had planned out some perfect speech."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And, you know, I do, too. Love you, that is." Hermione mentally berated herself over her inarticulate declaration, but Draco didn't seem to mind. He twisted quickly to look at her, carefully examining her features for any hint of deception.

"Really?"

She just nodded shyly, a small smile spreading her pink lips. Draco's answering smile was dazzling, and he quickly ducked his head to capture her lips with his.

A moment later they parted, smiling nervously but honestly at one another. Hermione cleared her throat, breaking eye contact to motion to the food spread out beneath them. "Lunch?"

Draco nodded, and they settled themselves on the floor and began eating. He picked up the unopened _Prophet_, turned to the first page and promptly choked on his pumpkin juice, spattering the paper with orange spots and streaks.

Hermione let out a weary groan. "Yes, I would have mentioned that sooner, but you…"

"Distracted you, yeah."

Draco stared in shock at the large picture on the front page of the paper underneath the title "Unlikely Romance: Potter Defends Granger and Malfoy". It seemed someone had worked hard to dig up an old photo from their Hogwarts days, discovering probably the only occasion he and Hermione had ever been photographed together. It was a day Draco remembered well; the Gryffindor-Slytherin quidditch match, third year. They had been competing for the Cup, and Slytherin had lost. _He_ had lost. The camera was focused on a group of celebrating Gryffindors, with the golden trio at the center. Off to the side and a bit behind the crowd stood Draco, looking despondent and alone. As he watched, the crowd of Gryffindors gave a particularly rambunctious yell, hoisting Potter up on their shoulders, and the image of himself turned toward them with a look of such naked _longing_ that Draco felt something inside him twist uncomfortably.

When he was finally able to tear his eyes away from the photo, he began to read the article. Someone must have given this reporter a pretty thorough blow-by-blow recap of his mother's trial, because nothing was excluded or distorted, at which Draco heaved a small sigh of relief. He didn't recognize the name of the journalist, a Thomas Brighton, but the man was no Rita Skeeter, thank Merlin.

Draco had worried about how the press might represent Hermione once their relationship came to light, and he was more than a little relieved to see at least one writer treat her with respect on the matter. He read the last few lines several times over in silent contemplation.

"_As two of Britain's greatest war heroes align themselves with their former classmate, we have to wonder…where did Draco Malfoy's true loyalties lie in the war? With his mother's recent acquittal and the revelation of his romance with sweetheart Hermione Granger, as well as his apparent friendship with Harry Potter, it looks as though the young Malfoy may have been badly misjudged. This reporter, for one, is anxiously awaiting his trial in the hopes that light will be shed and the truth will come out."_

Draco set the paper aside and stared blankly at the stone walls. Hermione was eyeing him anxiously, attempting to decipher his expression and gauge his reaction. When five minutes of uncomfortable silence had passed, impatience won out. "Draco, are you alright?"

His eyes slid back into focus as he shook himself slightly. "What? Oh, oh yeah, I'm alright. Surprising article, that."

"Yes."

He let out a heavy sigh, finally meeting her eyes. "They think I was some kind of double agent for the Order."

She nodded. "Yes, it certainly seems so."

Draco looked mildly disgusted. "I'd rather they thought I was an evil, prejudiced prat."

"What—why?"

He just shook his head, letting his eyes close and his head slip back to rest on the cot behind him. "I'd rather surpass someone's low expectations of myself than fail to meet such high ones." Draco knew all about high expectations and living life as a constant disappointment.

Hermione, thankfully, seemed to understand, and just took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Draco returned the pressure and raised his head again to offer a weak smile. "Well, it certainly could have been worse. Of course, this won't be the last article that's written about us, so I suppose parasites like Rita Skeeter will still have their chance."

Hermione surprised him by laughing darkly. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about _her_." Draco quirked an eyebrow at her response, so she continued. "I learned how to handle that old cow years ago. If she writes so much as one disparaging word about me or any of my friends I'll tear her apart."

Draco was pleasantly surprised by both her words and the viciousness of her tone. "Not afraid of Skeeter, then?"

She just scoffed. "_Please_. I've been to hell and back in the last year; it's going to take more than a few snide comments from an uncultured shrew like her to break me."

Draco smiled widely at her. "Yes, I suppose tackling journalists seems quite dull after blasting your way out of Gringott's on the back of a dragon." He watched closely for her reaction and was pleased to see her eyes take on a far off look, while her mouth curved in a thoughtful smirk. "You did, then didn't you? I have to say I'm quite curious about all that; you wouldn't _believe _the rumors that were going 'round."

Hermione smiled once before launching into the story in dramatic detail.

Several hours later, they were reading together on the bed when the door opened and Narcissa Malfoy walked in. Hermione scrambled up from her place nestled against Draco's chest and fidgeted nervously, while Draco watched her with amusement before standing and greeting his mother with a kiss. Narcissa was immaculate once more in robes of midnight blue, but she still retained some of the residual damage from before her release. Her hair had yet to regain its luster, her skin was a bit too pale, and her bones a bit too prominent in her aristocratic features, but her stately posture had returned, and she no longer curled in on herself in fear.

She nodded to Hermione in greeting. "Miss Granger. I hope I'm not interrupting…"

Hermione still looked a bit terrified, but replied with as much warmth as she could muster. "Oh, no, not at all. I should actually be getting home; I told Harry we'd have dinner, and I'm sure you would like some time with Draco."

Draco looked between the two women with a small frown of disappointment, which did not go unnoticed by Hermione. She caught his eye and smiled before turning back to Narcissa and continuing. "Perhaps you'd like to join us for lunch tomorrow, though?"

Narcissa eyed the repacked picnic basket and smiled at the young couple. "Yes, I'd love that. I do so look forward to getting to know you better."

"Wonderful! Then I'll see you both tomorrow, shall we say 11:00?" They nodded in agreement, so Hermione gathered her things, leaving the papers there for Draco to read later. He walked her to the door and kissed her softly on the cheek before she set off down the hall.

Once she was alone, she began going over the events of the afternoon and Draco's surprising declaration. He _loved_ her. Draco Malfoy loved _her._ Her cheeks tinted pink at the thought, and a million different thoughts and feelings swirled in her chest. Of course she was happy; she'd been feeling something very strongly for him for a while, and she was relieved to know it was reciprocated. She also felt excited and hopeful about their relationship and where it was headed. She felt a bit confused as well; it just seemed like so _much_ was happening so _fast_ that it sometimes left her head spinning. And, if she were being completely honest with herself, she felt a little apprehensive. She supposed it was natural, considering their history, to be a bit uneasy about the whole thing, but some part of her just _knew_ she could trust him.

She wandered down the familiar corridor, lost in thought, until she was jolted back into her surroundings by loud, violent banging on one of the doors just as she passed by it. The disruption was so sudden and so deafening that she flew back against the opposite wall, heart racing and hand desperately searching for her wand until she remembered it was still at the auror's station. The frantic pounding continued, and Hermione began backing down the hallway without taking her eyes off the door, half-expecting a masked Death Eater to burst through and come after her.

Her body was shaking and her breath was coming in ragged gasps when she backed into something solid, and strong hands gripped her arms tightly. She let out a terrified scream before the man she'd walked into spun her around to face him. She immediately recognized the auror robes and worked to calm herself, but she continued to tremble uncontrollably.

"You alright, miss? I didn't mean to scare you."

She forced herself to take a deep breath before responding in a weak, shaky voice. "I-I'm fine, I d-don't know w-what's the matter with m-me, I-I'm s-sorry."

"Hey, don't you fret on it, miss. This place has a way of getting' to you. Spooky as hell, sometimes, and then you've got nutters like that making a racket; it's no wonder you're upset." Hermione just nodded and offered a weak smile, so he stepped back, clearing her path once again. "You need an escort?"

"No, no thank you. I'll be fine, really." She seemed to have gotten the shaking under control, but her heart still felt like it would burst out of her chest. She smiled at the strange auror, told him goodbye, and started off down the corridor again, working very hard to keep from running like a scared child.

Once her wand was safely in her pocket again, she made her way out of the ministry and apparated to Grimmauld Place, where she spent the next hour in a very hot bath trying to calm her very over-wrought nerves.

***

_Hermione walked calmly up the pebbled drive to the stately white mansion, flanked by graceful white peacocks that swayed behind her as though an extension of her snow-white gossamer train. She ascended the white marble steps and glided through the entry into the grand parlor of Malfoy Manor._

_Ahead, Albus Dumbledore was smiling serenely behind his pulpit, oddly reminiscent of her first night at Hogwarts, with his twinkling blue eyes and welcoming stance. In front of the pulpit stood Draco, clad in his gray prison garbs streaked and spotted with blood, dirt and sweat, his beautiful pale skin once again marred by deep purple bruises and angry red cuts. But, his expression was euphoric, his smile captivating, and his eyes beckoned her forward until she stood across from him, returning his smile with her own._

_Dumbledore began the ceremony, though Hermione caught only the Headmaster's traditional nonsensical words intermittent with vows of life-long love and devotion. Her eyes stayed glued to Draco's, lost in their familiar smoky gray depths until Dumbledore announced in his deep, rich baritone, "You may now kiss the bride!"_

_Draco leaned in to seal their union with a gentle kiss, but just as Hermione's eyes slipped shut, a cruel, unyielding hand twisted itself in her hair, gripped her by the back of the head and jerked her backwards until she collided painfully with the cold marble floor._

_She opened her eyes in shock and stared into the deranged face of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her skin was a mottled green and rotting away in places, exposing putrid flesh and sickly yellow bones beneath. Her sunken black eyes surveyed her with perverse amusement, the cold fire behind them flaring up with her maniacal laughter._

"_Hello mudblood. You didn't actually think I would let you sully my dear little nephew with your filth, did you?"_

_Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but was hit with a whispered "Crucio!" and all that came from her lips was a blood-curdling shriek. Through the haze of pain and terror she could hear her name being called from somewhere beneath her, muffled by the floor and punctuated with the desperate banging of flesh against stone. _

_She thrashed against the floor, her head finally twisting to see Draco huddled against the wall, knees pulled to his chest, frightened gray eyes peering out at her through filthy, matted hair. Above him stood a man in Death Eater robes, white blond hair peaking out behind his silver mask. Where Dumbledore had stood she could now see the calm, smiling form of Tom Riddle, fingers idly caressing the Elder Wand while Dumbledore lay crumpled at his feet._

_Bellatrix was laughing once more, and Hermione's pain was impossibly doubled, making her feel as though her bones would shatter, her skin char and her mind unhinge under her tormentor's unwavering assault. _

"_Enough." The cold male voice was spoken with familiar authority, and the masked Death Eater strode toward her, every confident movement reflecting his position as Lord of the Manor. He stopped when he was hovering over her weak, broken body, his eyes peering down at her with disdain through his ornate mask._

_One hand directed a steady wand at her chest; the other came up to lift away his mask, revealing a pale, beautiful, and horribly cold face. Draco looked down on her with empty gray eyes and spoke forcefully, "Avada Kedavra!"_

Hermione awoke to the feel of strong hands on her shoulders, pulling her forward into a slumped sitting position. Her ears rang with the piercing screams reverberating through her dark bedroom, and it was with a mild shock that she recognized the words of her own hoarse voice. "Draco, no! Please, Draco don't!"

Her screams turned to sobs as her eyes focused in on the form of a very frantic, very rumpled Harry. "Mione?! Jesus, 'Mione, breathe!" He pulled her to his chest and smoothed her hair down her back in calming strokes. "You're okay, you're alright, I've got you, just breathe."


	16. Chapter Fifteen: Waking Up

Disclaimer: HP is not mine, as evidenced by my poor little broken heart (and pitiful bank account). 

Chapter Fifteen: Waking Up

Hermione peered over the edge of her steaming tea cup and into the worried eyes of Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley. She'd just described her dream, in detail, for the second time that morning, following Ginny's arrival. Harry, having heard the full version earlier, listened quietly with an ever-deepening crease between his brows; his concern evident in his stiff posture as well as in the subtle slope of his mouth.

"What happened yesterday at the ministry, Hermione?" Harry's voice was hard and laced with suspicion.

"Nothing bad, Harry. Well, except I did have a bit of a fright on the way out, but it was nothing." Harry raised one imperious eyebrow, so she elaborated. "I was walking through the corridor, and one of the inmates started pounding on his door the second I walked past. I overreacted a bit and was on the verge of a panic attack when I bumped into an auror."

Ginny eyed her curiously. "A panic attack?"

"Yes, well, I couldn't catch my breath, my heart was beating quite furiously, and I felt a bit cold and unsteady. I don't really know what came over me—I've never reacted that badly to something so simple before."

Ginny smiled gently at her puzzled expression. "I'd say things are finally starting to catch up to you."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been through an awful ordeal, Hermione. Well, actually you've been through _many_ awful ordeals. It's only natural for something like that to leave residual stress."

Hermione was thoughtful for a moment. "Like post traumatic stress disorder?"

Ginny looked puzzled at the term, but Harry perked up in interest. "Yeah, like what muggles go through after being in accidents or attacks—"

"Or wars." Harry nodded in understanding, but Hermione felt even more lost. "But I've been _fine _all this time; I don't understand why it should be bothering me _now._"

Ginny just shrugged. "I didn't start having nightmares about Tom Riddle until two months after Harry destroyed the diary." Her tone was casual, but Hermione didn't miss the way Harry's arm wrapped protectively around the young redhead's waist.

"I didn't know you had nightmares about that, Gin."

"It's not something I like to talk about, honestly. I've told a few people." She gave Harry a shy smile, and he squeezed her waist in response. She turned back to Hermione with a contemplative expression. "Hermione, did anything unusual happen with Malfoy yesterday?"

Hermione turned her face down to hide her blush. "Well, he might have..." The rest of her statement came out as a muffled series of unintelligible consonants, so Harry prompted her to clarify, much to her deep embarrassment. "He told me he loved me."

Ginny's lips turned up in a slow smile while Harry's eyebrows shot up beneath his messy fringe. His voice sounded a bit higher than usual and his words spilled out quickly, running over each other in his haste. "He, but—what?! I mean, isn't that—it's a bit _fast_, don't you think?"

Hermione nodded her agreement with an amused smile. "He said as much, himself. I don't think he meant to say it at all, really; it just sort of spilled out. It was actually quite sweet."

Ginny's smile was enormous now. "Well, what did you say?"

Hermione's embarrassed blush was back full-force, and she mumbled her response to her tea cup. "I may have said it back. A little. Maybe."

"Okay, well that helps explain the wedding part of the dream at least…" Harry responded with a strangled sort of exclamation, but Ginny ignored him and continued. "But I'm still confused by a few things. You said when Bellatrix was torturing you, you could hear someone calling your name from beneath the floor; so what was that about?"

Hermione blanched slightly, so Harry answered for her. "That night at Malfoy Manor, they locked Ron and me in a sort of cellar beneath the parlor where they had Hermione. When Bellatrix started…we could hear Hermione's screams. It was…god, it was _horrible_, and Ron just sort of lost it. He was pounding on all the walls and screaming her name." Harry's body was racked with a sudden tremor before he pulled himself out of his recollection and refocused his gaze on Ginny. "That must have been what she heard."

The three were silent for a moment, feeling Ron's absence quite painfully, before Hermione spoke in a low, unsteady voice, sounding dangerously close to tears. "How is he?"

Ginny looked up at her, but Hermione's face remained turned away, her shoulders slumped while her small hands wrung themselves in her lap. "He's…he'll be okay. I don't expect him to stay away much longer; he's missed you too much."

Hermione choked back a small sob and nodded. "Yeah, I've missed him, too." She steadied herself briefly before continuing. "So, you think he'll still be my friend, even if…"

"Of course he will, Hermione. You've been through too much together to just stop being friends now."

Hermione nodded before looking up at the clock. She let out an anxious sigh before standing and moving to the cupboards and her picnic basket. "I suppose I should start getting lunch together. Draco's mother is joining us today."

"Narcissa?" The little crease was back in place on Harry's brow, and he studied Hermione's expression carefully.

"Yes, I saw her just before I left yesterday, and I invited her to eat with us."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, 'Mione?"

"Honestly, Harry, didn't you just testify to keep the woman out of Azkaban?"

"Yeah, well, I don't think she belongs in prison, but that doesn't mean I trust her. I mean, do we have any reason at all to believe she's changed her views on muggleborns? You _do_ remember meeting her at Madam Malkin's, right?"

Hermione was a little unsettled by the memory, but did her best to respond casually. "Of course I do, Harry. And yes, she was nasty, but we _had_ just sent her husband to Azkaban."

"Yeah, because he tried to kill us!"

"Exactly, _he_ tried to kill us. All Narcissa did was make a few mean comments."

"Still, she's incredibly protective of Malfoy. What makes you think she approves of your, erm…relationship?"

Hermione sighed. "Look, Harry, I appreciate your concern, but do you really think this hasn't crossed my mind before now? I'm not stupid, and I'm not careless—I'm going to give her a chance, and I need you to trust my judgment on the matter."

Harry huffed once and ran his hand through his already messy hair. "Yeah, okay, you're right. I do trust you, you know that, just…be careful, alright?"

She smirked back at him over her shoulder. "Aren't I always?"

Harry just rolled his eyes. "Usually yeah, but lately you've been a bit…impulsive." Hermione stopped gathering their lunch and turned to face him with a curious expression. "I mean, this thing with Malfoy…it's just a bit odd. And fast. And, well…odd."

"I know, Harry. I didn't really think about it at first, but I have given it some thought now, and I think I understand what's going on. For me, this all started out as a sort of distraction—a project. I needed something meaningful to focus my energy on. And helping Draco, well, it made me feel good. More like my old self and less like the world was crashing down around me."

Ginny looked up from her tea. "That's easy enough to understand, but how did you go from that to this?" She gestured to the half-full picnic basket.

Hermione bit her lip thoughtfully. "He was just so different than I'd thought. That first day, he was so fragile, so beaten. It was sort of heartbreaking, really. I couldn't look at him the same way after that. Then the next day…" She laughed suddenly, her face brightening at the memory of Draco's naked arse in the air. Ginny and Harry looked at her curiously, but she wasn't about to give them all the details of _that_ encounter. "Well, let's just say things lightened up after that visit, and I started viewing him as a friend. There was a slight attraction…" Ginny cleared her throat and arched her brow. "Okay, a very intense attraction, satisfied?"

"Quite. Continue."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the smirking girl. "And then one day I was there, and we were playing around, he was trying to start another pillow fight—"

Now it was Harry's turn to interrupt. "Pillow fight? You've been having _pillow fights_ with _Draco Malfoy?"_

"Yes. I told you, he's not what you'd expect. So anyway, we're sort of, oh I don't know, laughing and wrestling and then he just kissed me. And from that moment on—that kiss—things were just different between us. At first, it was like an escape from reality, but now it feels like it's _becoming_ my reality, you know?"

Harry stared at her blankly, while Ginny nodded her understanding. "But this dream, Hermione…it's a little worrisome. Are you going to talk to Draco about it? I mean, he _killed_ you in it immediately after marrying you—that's got to have some kind of significance to it."

Hermione paused before responding. "I don't plan on telling him about the dream. I _do_ plan on thinking about it and resolving whatever issues might have led to it, but I don't think telling Draco about it would accomplish anything more than dredging up a very difficult memory for both of us."

"Okay. Just…keep us posted, alright?"

"Sure thing, Ginny."

***

Lunch with Draco and Narcissa was an interesting, if strained, affair. Hermione never could relax completely in the presence of the intimidating blonde witch, and Draco seemed anxious to see how the two of them would get along. To her credit, Narcissa was pleasant with unfailingly perfect manners. Of the three, she alone seemed utterly calm and unperturbed throughout the meal, carrying the conversation with grace and ease.

They stuck to light topics, avoiding any of the controversial issues that might bring up painful memories. There was, however, one particularly awkward moment when Narcissa was discussing the gardens at the manor.

"…And the wisteria has completely overrun our little gazebo, drowning it in fragrant purple blossoms. It's quite a sight, really. Hermione, you must come and join me for lunch one day so I can show you our home."

Hermione paled slightly, turning her gaze down to her lap. "I've actually been to your home, once, although it was…dark, at the time. It was quite lovely, from what I remember."

Narcissa froze, briefly losing her cool composure and staring at Hermione's down-turned face with shock, regret flooding her mind as she recalled Hermione's 'visit' to the manor. When she responded, her voice was a strained whisper. "Of course."

Draco reached for Hermione's hand, squeezing gently and meeting her frightened eyes with his own. "I think you'll find the manor quite changed now that it's no longer under siege." The look he gave her was one of comfort, but hidden beneath that was raw, questioning vulnerability. He was looking to her for reassurance, hoping that she really would give them all a second chance.

Hermione recognized the insecurity in his eyes and smiled softly at him, returned the squeeze and turned back to Narcissa. "I would love to see your gardens, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa visibly relaxed under Hermione's kind gaze. "Of course, anytime, but I must insist you forego the formalities, dear. It's Narcissa, or Cissa, if you'd prefer."

Hermione nodded, though the cold knot in her stomach had yet to dissipate. "Cissa."

***

Narcissa left them there in the early afternoon with the promise to have Hermione over for tea the next day. Draco waited all of 30 seconds after her departure to question Hermione about her mood.

"What is it?"

She returned his concerned look with a blank, puzzled stare. "What is what?"

"What's _wrong_, Hermione? Something's been bothering you since you arrived. You seem tense, almost scared, and you look like you hardly slept last night. Did something happen?"

Hermione sighed tiredly, slumping down on the bed. "I was a little nervous about lunch is all."

Draco eyed her speculatively for a moment. "Bollocks."

"Excuse me?"

"You're lying. You're keeping something from me; I can see it." He didn't sound angry, just worried and confused, so Hermione let her defenses down a bit.

"I had a bad dream last night, and I suppose I've been a little on edge lately."

"What was the dream about?"

"Just…war stuff." She avoided meeting his eye as she said this, unintentionally tipping Draco off to her omission.

"Could you be a little more specific, please, love?"

She'd had no intention of discussing this with him, but he had to go looking so sweet and concerned and attentive and all. Damn him. "Well, it was several things really, but it all took place at…at your manor. Bellatrix was there, and Voldemort."

Draco was watching her closely now. "Was I there, Hermione?" When she bit her lip and looked away, he pressed on. "I _was_ there. What happened?"

"It's embarrassing!"

"What? How is it embarrassing?"

"Well, we were…sort of…getting married."

Draco was watching for the familiar blush that always accompanied Hermione's embarrassment, but it never came. She remained pale and frightened looking, and he knew she was leaving something out. "What aren't you telling me, Hermione?"

Hermione mentally cursed herself for falling for the one emotionally observant teenage boy in Britain. He was reading her all too well and clearly wasn't going to let this go until he'd gotten the whole story. She let out a frustrated sigh, took a deep breath, and spilled her guts.

"We were getting married, but you looked the way you did the first day I came here, remember? Anyway, Dumbledore married us, but before you could kiss me, zombie-Bellatrix showed up and started torturing me, while Voldemort looked on and you were trapped by a hooded Death Eater who also turned out to be you just before you killed me. That's when I woke up."

Draco stared blankly at her, trying to make sense of her rushed explanation. "I married you?" She nodded. "Then I killed you." She nodded again, a bit less enthusiastically this time. "But it was a different me; a Death Eater me."

"Yes."

Draco was silent for a moment, turning things over in his mind. "You're afraid of me."

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "No! I'm really not. I think, I think that I'm afraid of a lot of things right now. And this…" she motioned between them. "This is a little frightening. We've just gotten very involved very quickly, and there's a pretty huge potential for disaster, here."

Draco wasn't completely following her, but continued to study her with sad eyes, trying to decipher the meaning behind her garbled words. "You don't trust me."

Hermione paused, and it was as though a light bulb went off in her head. "No." When she saw the hurt in his eyes, she quickly tried to clarify. "It's not that I think you're lying to me, or that you want to hurt me…it's just that…trust, _real,_ explicit trust, has to be _earned_, Draco. You and I have quite a sordid past between us, and while I recognize that all of that truly is _in the past_, it's still something we'll have to overcome. I think we'll get there, but it won't happen overnight."

Draco nodded his understanding, although inside he was still a bit hurt. He turned his thoughts back to Hermione's dream. "Wait—_zombie_ Bellatrix? What's a zombie?"

"Oh, it's a bit like an inferi, you know, an animated corpse? But she was self-aware. She was just like I remember her, actually, except that her flesh was rotting off her bones."

Draco's face screwed up at the thought. "That's disgusting, Hermione."

"Hm, well perhaps I've seen too many muggle horror films."

"Clearly."

"You know, as soon as we get you out of here, I'm going to have to expose you to muggle cinema. Maybe a little "Evil Dead," to begin with."

"Sounds charming, love." Draco smiled fondly at her, pleased with the way the tension had visibly left her shoulders and the way the little crease between her eyes had smoothed out into a look of comfortable familiarity. He sat down on the cot, pulling her down to lean against his chest so he could play with her messy hair. "Tell me more about these zombies."

Hermione nestled against his chest, twisting her fingers in the hem of his shirt and breathing in his scent. "Well, the basic premise is universal, but there are several theories when it comes to causes and cures…"

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a casual discussion of muggle monsters, the woes of the real world put aside and forgotten, at least for the time being.

**A/N: So…it's taken me a long (loooooong) time to post this chapter. Life decided to get a little crazy on me, but hopefully things have slowed down enough for me to post regularly again. **

**Congratulations to my dear friend Luxorious for her (beautiful) wedding the Saturday before last! She's been in Spain for her honeymoon, but should be back soon and owes me a chapter or two—that's right, I'm calling you out, woman!**

**I wanted to say something to a couple of my reviewers who have commented on the speedy nature of Hermione and Draco's relationship. I completely agree—it is fast. I can justify it and explain it all you want, but the truth is that I'm just not patient enough to write 20 chapters of "Oh, he/she's so hot, but I can't be attracted to him/her!!" And the timing of this story makes fast forwards a bit detrimental to the plot. Just to be clear, I'm not hating on stories where the characters struggle with their feelings for ages before doing anything; I actually think that's a logical and in-character approach to the relationship. I just didn't want to write it that way, because it seemed a bit tedious (i.e. not fun for me). I'll pace my next romance a little slower, but this first one was just destined to be a whirlwind affair, sorry if that bugs you. ;)**

**Thanks for reading!**


	17. Chapter Sixteen: Conversations

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Sure, I obsess a little, but no harm is intended, nor money made from my little fixation.

Chapter Sixteen: Conversations and Observations

Hermione smoothed down the material of her light, cotton sundress, meticulously checking for wrinkles in the white fabric. She assessed her hair in the mirror, winding a loose curl back into place in the clip setting on the back of her head. She applied some sheer lip gloss, finishing off her light application of makeup quite nicely. Her simple silver earrings caught and reflected the light where they dangled below her tamed locks. She cast her reflection a nervous smile before heading down the stairs and out the front door, pausing only a moment on the steps of Number 12 before turning on the spot.

She landed gracefully in a lane bordered with tall, tailored hedges, which she followed until reaching an imposing, black wrought iron gate. She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes to survey the sprawling mass of Malfoy Manor and felt her heart stutter in her chest. The manor was massive, elegant and pristine, but its cold façade filled her with dread and anxiety.

Struggling to control her anxious breathing, Hermione straightened herself out and rang the small bell attached to the gate, signaling her arrival. She was momentarily stunned when, instead of swinging inward, the seemingly solid iron bars twisted and melted away like smoke on a breeze, allowing her entrance to the manicured grounds.

She cautiously strode forward, taking in the pristine gardens lining the drive. She could hear a fountain playing somewhere nearby and the soft warbling of birds from the towering oaks lining the property. The afternoon was warm, clear and calm, and the lawn was beautiful and serene. So why was her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest? Her palms were slick with sweat and her legs shook as they carried her unsteadily forward.

A sudden movement to her right sent her stumbling backwards, her trembling legs crumpling beneath her and dropping her back onto the soft grass lining the drive. She pulled her wand instinctively, only to be faced with a massive albino peacock, eyeing her curiously. Hermione shook her head, trying to laugh off her irrational anxiety, but only managing a weak sob between her gasping breaths.

It was there, sprawled in the grass, somewhere between sobbing and hyperventilating, that Narcissa found her.

"Hermione? Oh, dear—what's happened? Are you hurt?" Narcissa stooped to gather the frightened witch in her arms, pulling her to her feet again.

Hermione clung to her, desperately fighting to reign in her emotions. "I-I'm fine, I'm s-sorry, I just…I can't…"

"Shh, dear, it's alright, I've got you. Let's just go inside and you can rest a bit."

Narcissa started leading her towards the house, but was jerked to an abrupt stop when Hermione pulled back, shaking her head violently, dislodging the tears she had tried to contain. Narcissa studied her face, noting the fear and panic in her eyes as she looked toward the manor.

"Oh…_oh._ I see. Don't worry, darling. I'll just take you home then?" Hermione responded with a silent, but grateful, nod and allowed the graceful blonde to lead her back towards the gates. Once outside the property, she turned to Hermione again. "Grimmauld Place, then?"

Hermione nodded and gripped Narcissa's arm as they both turned on the spot, reappearing in the unkept square of grass outside the Black ancestral home. Hermione started forward, but paused when Narcissa did not join her.

"Erm…Hermione?" She was staring blankly at the building, and Hermione quickly realized her mistake.

"Oh, yes, sorry. The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix are located at Number 12, Grimmauld Place." Recognition dawned on the elder witch's face, along with a small smirk and a light chuckle.

"Walburga must be rolling in her crypt, the old bat."

"You've no idea…" Hermione muttered under her breath. She seemed to have calmed herself again, as she was able to walk without shaking and speak without sobbing. She led Narcissa up the stairs and, after tapping it with her wand, through the front door.

Twenty minutes later they were seated in the first floor drawing room. Hermione, wrapped in a warm throw, was sipping her chamomile tea, letting it warm her limbs and calm her mind while Narcissa nibbled daintily at an assortment of tea cakes and sandwiches provided by an eager and ecstatic Kreacher.

Hermione was the first to break the silence. "I'm so sorry about earlier, Cissa. I don't know what came over me."

"Oh, hush, dear, no need to apologize. I should have anticipated your reaction. Honestly, it was quite thoughtless of me." She looked closely at Hermione, her blue eyes heavy with sadness and regret. "Wouldn't it be lovely if we could just erase the past and truly start fresh with each other?"

Hermione nodded, but her expression quickly turned thoughtful. "Would that be possible? To, maybe, erase my memory of that night so I wouldn't have to deal with all of this nonsense anymore?"

Narcissa shook her head, though her expression was sympathetic. "No, dear. I'm afraid these things don't work that way. It's not your conscious mind that fears the manor or startles at sudden noises; that part of you can separate your irrational fears from the rational. It's your subconscious that's driving your reactions now, and erasing your memory would do nothing to assuage that. Besides, I don't think you'd go through with that if you could. It's not in your nature to run from your problems, Hermione."

Hermione let out a sigh. "No, you're right. Of course I wouldn't. Tell me, Cissa, how is it that you know me so well?"

Narcissa's face lit up in an amused smile. "You, my child, are as honest as you are noble, which makes you exceptionally easy to read. When you've spent your life around Slytherins, you learn to peek beneath words and appearances to flesh out people's true intentions, which even after years of practice can sometimes be impossible. With someone like you, however, your heart is on your sleeve and your thoughts are in your eyes. All one has to do is look."

Hermione smiled at the description. "Alright then, tell me about me."

"You're hurting. It's been difficult for you to see and experience all the things you have, because it's caused you to really question the goodness of humanity, and that's not something you ever wanted to do. You've had to accept that there are people in this world that are beyond redemption; you've seen true evil, and the knowledge of that has damn near broken you. But…"

Narcissa's smile brightened a bit as she continued. "You haven't given up. You've also seen true goodness, bravery and self-sacrifice, and it's kept you going. You're determined to keep fighting, and you'll never, _ever_, give up on the woman you want to be." Narcissa paused a moment, her eyes drifting to the window, seemingly deep in thought. "You also love my son, very much."

Hermione felt her cheeks suffuse with color and she turned her eyes down to study her teacup. "Oh? What makes you say that?"

Narcissa sighed heavily. "It took a great deal of courage for you to come to the manor today. And even after your fright, you still took my hand and brought me into your home, trusting me with your safety. Thank you."

Hermione just nodded, unable to meet the stately witch's eyes. "I'd like to try it again. N-not today, but soon. I _won't _let irrational fears dictate my life." Feeling a bit bolder, she raised her head to find Narcissa gazing at her proudly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"I'd expect nothing less."

Hermione just nodded and reached for a sandwich, her appetite returning with her courage.

***

It was nearly an hour later, and the two witches were deep in conversation about wizard literature, when they heard the front door open. Hermione assumed Harry had returned home and continued the discussion without pause, but a moment later he strode into the drawing room carrying a sleeping Teddy, followed closely by Andromeda Tonks.

Upon seeing one another, the estranged sisters froze, Narcissa actually forgetting her etiquette training for once and dropping her half-eaten scone to the floor.

"Andy?" Narcissa's eyes were shining and her hands trembling, but Andromeda looked positively wary. She took a tentative step back, but Narcissa was immediately on her feet, reaching for her sister. "Please, don't go!"

Andromeda looked around at the scene of the impromptu tea party with confusion. "Cissa? What on earth are you doing here?"

Narcissa was wringing her hands anxiously, seemingly trying, and failing, to control her emotions. "I…just…having tea with Hermione. I didn't know…I…Oh, Andy!" With this last outburst she threw herself across the space between them, clutching her shocked sister tightly to her and crying in earnest.

Hermione stood and motioned to Harry that they should give the women some privacy, and they took the sleeping baby out and down the stairs into the kitchen. She detailed the events of the afternoon to Harry while he rocked the little blue haired boy quietly.

"You're really going back there?"

"Of course I am, Harry! You know I've got to face this thing, or it'll never get any better!"

"Maybe you need _time_ _to heal_, Hermione. I don't like you pushing yourself this way."

"Well, I just feel like it's something I need to do, and I need your support."

Harry sighed. "You know you've always got my support, Hermione. Always."

Hermione smiled timidly. "Then maybe you would consider going with next time?"

"Huh…actually, I'd feel a hell of a lot better about this whole thing if I was there with you. Sure, yeah I'll go. Just tell me when."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Harry."

"Sure thing. Hey, can you take Teddy? My arm is going numb."

"Oooh, pass him here!" She gently rested the sleeping infant against her chest, rubbing slow circles on his back. "He's such a pretty baby."

"Handsome, Hermione."

"Psh—you can call boys 'pretty' when they're babies, and this one certainly is. Beautiful, even."

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled fondly at the pair. Moments later they heard movement on the stairs.

"Harry? Are you down here?"

Harry jumped up and ran to the stairs so he wouldn't shout and wake the baby. "We're in the kitchen, come on down."

When Andromeda and Narcissa entered the kitchen it was almost as though the very air around them was lighter. They both wore smiles so genuine it lit up all their features, highlighting the subtle similarities in the set of their eyes, their full lips and high cheekbones. Narcissa cooed with delight when she spied the sleeping baby in Hermione's arms.

"Oh, let me hold my grand nephew! Look at that hair, goodness! Andy, you must be so pleased he inherited Nymphadora's gift. What a magical little baby!"

Hermione passed him to her gently, and Narcissa expertly cradled the infant in the nook of her arm. Once he was settled, she cast a sly look at Hermione. "You have a mother's hands, you know."

Hermione blushed and stuttered while Andromeda spoke over her. "She's an absolute natural; Harry, too. I wonder how long it will be before Harry's cradling little redheaded babies and Hermione's rocking her own tow-headed children?"

Now it was Harry's turn to stutter as well, and the two friends cast each other helpless looks while the older women just watched them and smiled.

Narcissa was swaying with little Teddy, her eyes locked on his sweet face. "Not for a few years yet, Andy. They've got to finish school, first."

"Yes, but they'll be done this time next year."

"But then they'll need time for a proper engagement, at least six months to plan the weddings, then we can give them a couple more months of wedded bliss before conception. So, shall we say, approximately 18 months after graduation we'll expect their firstborns? What do you think, Hermione, does that sound about right to you?"

Hermione was thoroughly scarlet by now. "I…I…I think I need to sit down."

Narcissa smiled fondly at her. "You are sitting, dear."

"Oh."

Harry was staring blankly at the table top, his eyes strangely glazed and distant.

Narcissa exchanged an amused smile with Andromeda before the two burst into laughter. "We're only teasing, you two!"

Andromeda gasped to catch her breath. "Oh my, the looks on your faces!"

Hermione was still gripping the table for support. "That was _not _funny!" But the slow smirk spreading her features belied her words, and she was soon laughing with them.

The laughter woke up little Teddy, who began to stretch and mew, his little eyelids fluttering open to reveal deep violent irises. Narcissa cooed down at him, kissing his cheeks and bouncing him gently. As she held him, his eyes turned to a pale, clear blue, mimicking her own, and she smiled brightly at him. "What a clever boy you are!"

The attention of the three women was soon diverted however, as Hermione noticed that Harry hadn't torn his gaze away from the table top. Alarmed, she shook his shoulder gently, calling his name.

"Harry? Merlin, I think you've traumatized him."

Harry snapped his head up, looking slightly frantic. "How do I ask her?"

"What?" Hermione was completely mystified by the seriousness and desperation in his voice.

"What if she says no? Oh, Merlin, what if I wait too long to ask her and she finds someone else! I should find her, ask her now, but I don't have a ring!"

Hermione exchange a bemused look with Andromeda, but Narcissa slid easily into the seat next to Harry, a calm and knowing expression on her face.

"You don't need to ask her now, dear, she's not going anywhere. Why don't you wait until Christmas? That gives you time to find a ring and decide what you're going to say."

Harry just nodded, his features slightly less panicked. "But, what if she says no?"

"She won't."

"You're sure?"

"Of course. Now, don't you fret. Why don't you go upstairs and have a lie-down; we'll call you when dinner's ready."

Harry nodded enthusiastically, his eyes still a bit distant, and rose from the table. "Yeah, okay. Thanks. I'll er…just be upstairs, then."

"Alright dear, go on, and just don't you worry."

" 'Kay."

When Harry was up the stairs and out of earshot, Andromeda and Hermione turned to Narcissa with mouths still open in shock.

"What on earth was that about?"

Narcissa just adjusted the baby and sighed. "I swear, these boys…you'd think the world was going to end if they weren't married by dawn."

"_What_?"

"Well, let's just say, you're not the only one fighting irrational, compulsive fears." When the women continued to stare at her clearly without comprehending, she elaborated. "Tell me, Hermione, what is the one thing Harry has always wanted most. Besides, you know, saving the world and all."

That's easy. "A family."

"Yes. And tell me, what happened to his family to make him want that?"

"Well…they either died, like his parents and Sirius, or they, well, hated him."

"So, I'd wager it's pretty safe to say that young Mr. Potter is a bit terrified that he'll never have a family, that they'd always leave or reject him, correct?"

Hermione nodded.

"And then Draco, well the only thing he's ever really wanted was to be loved and accepted, unconditionally. First by his father and myself, and now by you, Hermione. He _aches_ for it."

Hermione swallowed nervously. "I do."

Narcissa nodded, eyeing the young witch closely. "I believe that, but it's going to be harder for Draco to accept. He carries around so much shame, so much _guilt_. He can't completely forgive himself, and he can't imagine anyone else doing it either. I think he's waiting for the trial. He expects it will be too much, that you'll be unable to look past the things he's done and just see _him_, anymore, and you'll want nothing more to do with him."

"But I already _know_ what he's done; I've already forgiven him!"

"I know, dear. And he'll see it in time; you just have to be patient. The Malfoy men are fond of grand gestures. I'm quite certain he'll attach all of his hopes for the two of you onto one significant even, and whatever happens then will, in his eyes, determine the rest of your relationship."

"What do you mean, what kind of event?"

"I'm not sure, but if I figure it out, you'll be the first to know."

Hermione stared thoughtfully at the table while Cissa and Andy began a long conversation about magical baby formulas, her attention completely diverted until Kreacher announced dinner and Cissa sent her upstairs to fetch Harry.

She paused halfway up the first flight, shaking her head in wonder. She really _had_ to get Narcissa to teach her how to read people.

**A/N: I just realized there isn't any Draco in this chapter. :( Sorry about that—I'll get to work on ch. 17 and write something smutty to make up for it, k?**

**Reviews make Teddy happy.**


	18. Chapter Seventeen: Momentous Moments

Disclaimer: My therapist insists that I don't own Harry Potter. He's even gone so far as to claim that none of these characters or events are even _real. _Needless to say…I need a new therapist.

Chapter Seventeen: Momentous Moments

_Hermione wandered the desolate halls of her beloved school. The floors were littered with refuse and the bodies of the fallen, but all was still, all was quiet. She called out, desperate to find a familiar face that had not been wiped blank by the completeness of death, but her voice reverberated through the empty castle in weak echoes._

_Her feet carried her to the Great Hall where countless bodies lined the stone floors in place of the house tables. The once majestic ceiling was bowed and cracked, the swirling vortexes of brilliant stars snuffed out into bleak darkness. _

_She turned her back on the site, fighting the despair clawing at her chest like a desperate, cornered animal. Ahead, the massive doors lie open and crooked on broken hinges, pouring meager light onto the trampled lawn. She started forward but stopped short just outside the doorway, falling to her knees at the sight before her._

_Harry. Her Harry. Small and pale and broken, lying at the feet of Voldemort, who eyed her with satisfaction while spinning her beloved Headmaster's wand between thin, spindly fingers. _

"_No…" Her voice was little more than a whisper of denial. Voldemort smiled, the expression splitting his snake-like face into a mask of gleeful malice._

_She crawled forward, still on her knees, suddenly weak with exhaustion and defeat, until she reached Harry. She cradled his head in her lap, stroking his wild hair and pleading, begging his green eyes to focus on her. He did not wake up._

_She raised her head, surveying Tom Riddle through her tears, waiting for the words, and with the words, release. She was suddenly so very tired._

_He just smiled down at her, his red eyes glinting in the moonlight, before turning and slowly, casually, walking away._

_Leaving her there. Alone in the destruction, alone with her grief. She screamed._

_***_

Draco looked up from his book as the door to his cell opened, admitting a picnic basket-laden Hermione. He bounced up off the bed to take the basket from her and capture her in a tight hug.

"You're early!"

She smiled warmly up at him, more at home in his arms than she'd ever felt before. "I was up early this morning; I waited as long as I could, but I just wanted to see you."

"Well I'm glad you're here." Up close, he could see the bruise-like circles beneath her eyes and the unfamiliar lines of tension in her features. "What's wrong, Hermione? Another dream?"

She let out a sigh before leading him to sit with her on the bed. "Yes, not the same one, though."

"What was it?"

She paused a moment, seemingly lost in thought. "You've heard all about what happened during the Final Battle, when we thought Harry'd been killed, after your mother had lied to Voldemort."

Draco nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and gently pulling her to lie against him.

"It was like that moment, but I was alone with Voldemort, and Harry didn't wake up."

"I'm sorry."

"That…that was the worst moment. For me. Seeing him like that…it was the worst I've ever felt. Worse than Bellatrix, worse than Godric's Hollow and all the rest of the horrible moments of my life. It was also probably the most selfish moment of my life."

"How so?"

"If Harry had really been dead, it would have potentially been the end for us. With Voldemort's last real adversary gone, we would have lost. Countless lives would have ended, and the world as we know it would have morphed into something totally horrific. And I didn't _care._ I didn't care about the war, or Voldemort, or the cause…all I could see was Harry, the best friend I've ever had, and I wanted him back. Not to save the world, but just for me, because I need him. It was like the rest of it didn't even exist."

Draco was still for a moment, digesting her confession, before laughing softly. "Really, Hermione? The most selfish thing you've ever done was wanted your best friend to be alive? Gee, you really are a monster."

She slapped his thigh playfully. "Oh, shut up. Anyway, enough of that. I don't want to talk about anything upsetting today. We're going to have a nice, relaxing morning together, then your mother, Andromeda and Teddy will be joining us for lunch."

"What? My aunt?"

"Mm-hm. Your mother and I were having tea at Grimmauld Place when Harry showed up with Andromeda and the baby, and she and your mother reconciled. It was really pretty wonderful, they seemed so happy!"

"Well, that's…surprising. But nice. I know mother will need all the support she can get as she adjusts to life without father. But wait—tea at Grimmauld Place? I thought you were going to the manor?"

He felt Hermione stiffen against him, so he turned so he could look at her, but found she wouldn't meet his eye.

"Oh, well. That didn't…you see, I…I wasn't feeling well, so Cissa took me home, but then I felt better so she ended up staying for quite a while."

"Not feeling well." His tone was flat and his expression radiated skepticism.

"No."

"Hermione, what aren't you telling me? What happened at the manor?"

She let out a harsh breath. "I just had a bit of an attack. It was silly, really."

"An attack? What, like the one you had leaving here the other day?"

She nodded, still not meeting his eye. "Bit like that, yes."

"Worse, though, right?"

"Look, I really don't want to discuss this again. I reacted irrationally, but I have a plan, I'm going to fix it, so there's really nothing to worry about, alright?"

Draco eyed her speculatively, but, seeing the quiet plea in her eyes, nodded his acquiescence.

"Excellent." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief before flinging herself against him, capturing his mouth in an eager, heated kiss and knocking him to his back on the small cot.

Draco, more than a little shocked by her sudden attack, pushed her back tentatively, his expression cautiously curious. "Um…what was that for?"

Hermione's eyes were warm and hooded, and she shook her head briefly before replying with a smirk. "No more talking."

This time Draco did not pause in accepting her advances, but matched her ferocity with his own, wrapping his arms around her and holding her body tightly against his. Hermione only broke their kiss to sit up, straddling his lap, and pull her shirt up over her head. Draco's hands skimmed up the smooth skin of her abdomen, cupping her breasts through the silky, emerald green material of her bra.

Draco's voice was ragged and uneven when he spoke. "Green, eh?"

She smiled shyly as she leaned over him again, bringing her mouth to his ear to place small kisses and gentle bites along the shell in between whispered words. "Thought you might like it. What do you think?"

Draco purred beneath her, one hand remaining on the aforementioned garment as the other slid down to grip her hip tightly through her dark muggle jeans. He was barely able to utter a coherent reply, something between 'fantastic' and 'brilliant,' as she moved her attention to his neck, snaking her tongue along the pale perfection of his skin to nibble at the sensitive spot near his collar.

Hermione giggled at his response before speaking again, her warm breath fanning out across his neck while her lips moved against him. "It came with matching knickers, you know."

Draco spluttered once before gripping her tightly and rolling so that she was pinned beneath him, smiling brilliantly with her hair in a beautiful disarray around her head. He kissed her once, deeply, while his fingers found the clasp of her jeans. He paused, his eyebrows knitting together, as he discovered possibly the most tortuous muggle invention ever realized. The button-fly.

Scowling slightly, Draco pulled back to kneel over her, studying the sadistic closure intently as his fingers moved down the row, releasing each disk with extreme focus and determination. When he'd freed the last button with a hugely self-satisfied smirk, he slowly peeled the heavy denim away, revealing inch after inch of delicious flesh, and, as promised, a fantastic pair of green silk knickers.

Tossing the pants aside, Draco ran his fingers lightly over her pale stomach and down, stroking the smooth green fabric where it hugged her hips. He leaned in to plant a trail of kisses from one hip, across the stretch of material to the other, nipping lightly at the hip bone where it protruded just above the waistline. When he lifted his head, he found Hermione watching him with glazed eyes, her full bottom lip caught between her teeth, her cheeks bright and flushed, her chest rising swiftly with her heavy breaths.

"God, you're beautiful."

She just reached forward, grabbed a handful of Draco's gray shirt, and pulled him up to kiss her. Once he was settled on top of her again, she tugged insistently at his shirt, which he quickly pulled off and flung away, diving back in to claim her mouth once more.

He paused, however, when she began pushed at his trousers, dragging them down over his hips. Placing a hand over hers, stilling her movements, he broke away to study her features. "What are you doing, Hermione?"

She bit her lip again, a flash of uncertainty and insecurity causing her features to fall slightly and the lovely blush staining her cheeks to deepen. "I-I want you, Draco."

It took a moment for her words to really register, and when they did, Draco's jaw dropped, his heart stuttered, and his cock twitched against her stomach. "But, but…"

"Please?" Her voice was so small, her tone so pleading, her expression so vulnerable that Draco felt his heart contract painfully in his chest, overwhelming himself with the need to give this wonderful girl everything she'd ever wanted.

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Draco rested his forehead against hers. "You're a virgin, are you not?" He felt her nod timidly beneath him. "Well, tell me; is _this_ how you imagined your first time to be?"

She was still this time, but Draco kept his eyes closed, his head held against hers, one hand tangled in her hair and the other still on hers at his waist.

"It's not important _where_ it happens, as long as it's you, Draco."

He let out a very shaky breath, dropping his head to bury it in the masses of unruly tresses beside her. "You have no idea how much I want you right now."

Hermione turned toward him, kissing his temple and stroking his silky blond hair. "But?"

"It wouldn't be right. You deserve better, Hermione."

She let out a frustrated breath, but her tone was resigned when she continued. "Damned inconvenient timing for you to go all noble on me, you know."

He just laughed into her hair. "Tell me about it."

She gave his hair a playful tug. "Well, I'm horribly disappointed, so you'd better get to work making it up to me."

Grinning, Draco popped up again. "Yes, ma'am."

And he did, quite thoroughly, for the next hour and a half.

They were both still grinning madly, although (thankfully) properly dressed once more, when Cissa, Andy and Teddy arrived for lunch. Cissa gave them a knowing look, causing both their cheeks to burn with embarrassment, but mercifully did not comment.

Lunch was a pleasant affair, and Hermione truly enjoyed watching Draco with baby Teddy. He was surprisingly adept at handling the little blue-haired charmer, although, a half-hour into the visit, Teddy's turquoise locks shifted and paled to frosty blond, making Draco smile broadly in a most proud and self-important manner. After that, he was loath to release the child to any of the jealous women present.

When it was time for Cissa, Andy and Teddy to head out again, Cissa paused on her way out the door to address Hermione. "See you tomorrow for tea?" Hermione nodded, remembering her plans to face the manor again with Harry at her side. "Alright, dear. You two _enjoy_ the rest of the afternoon, then."

They both blushed under the amused look she gave them, but mumbled in agreement until the door closed behind her.

Hermione smiled, shaking her head slowly. "Your mother is the most perceptive woman I've ever met."

Draco chuckled ruefully. "Tell me about it. I never got away with anything as a kid. She _always_ knows."

"Hm." Hermione looked closely at Draco, remembering Cissa's words from the day before. "I love you, you know."

Draco smiled down at her, but there was a small shadow there, a trace of doubt still lingering behind his stormy eyes. "I love you more."

She smiled, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Doubtful."

He kissed her forehead and pulled her against him, swaying gently as though dancing to silent music. Hermione compiled a mental to-do list as he held her.

_1) Conquer her fears, stop the nightmares. _

_2) Get Draco through his trial and out of this cell. _

_3) Erase the doubt from his eyes. _

_4) Live happily ever after. _

She smiled and placed a kiss against his chest, swaying softly with him to the music she couldn't hear.


	19. Chapter Eighteen: Friends and Fears

Disclaimer: Look at that—18 chapters in, and I still don't own Harry Potter. Somebody should really do something about that.

Chapter Eighteen: Friends and Fears

Hermione sat with Harry in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, perusing the Daily Prophet and nibbling on a scone. She didn't even look up from her article when she heard the familiar 'whoosh' of the floo, but her head snapped up painfully fast at the sounded of a low voice clearing across the room.

Ron dusted off his shoulders as he came and sat at the table across from her, taking a bit of bacon from Harry's plate and pouring himself a glass of juice. "Er…hi."

Harry smiled widely at him, clapping his back heartily. "Morning Ron. How's things?"

Ron just shrugged, finally making timid eye contact with Hermione. "Morning, Mione."

"H-hello Ron. It's good to see you." She cursed her shaking voice and fought to smile naturally at him, all the while feeling a warm blush stain her cheeks.

"Yeah, I'm sorry I haven't been around much…"

Harry interrupted him by sliding over his plate. "No worries, mate. You're here now."

Ron seemed to relax a bit and started eating the proffered breakfast comfortably. "Yeah, about that…I need to tell you both something."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, taking a sip of her tea, and Harry just nodded for him to continue.

"I had a visit from a man yesterday, a Barrister Hannah."

Hermione choked on her tea, spurring a brief coughing fit while Harry's brows furrowed in recognition. "The prosecutor for Narcissa Malfoy's trial?"

Ron nodded. "The same. Seems he's working Draco's trial, too."

Hermione felt the blush drain from her cheeks, replaced with a clammy coolness. "He wants you to testify against him."

Ron nodded again, not meeting her eye. "About the poisoned mead."

Harry cursed under his breath, taking a long drink from his pumpkin juice and setting the glass down a little harder than necessary. "What did you tell him?"

Ron shifted uneasily. "Well, I've been given an official summons, so I'll have to testify, one way or another, but I told him I wouldn't go to any of the little scripting sessions he wanted to have with me."

Harry nodded. "No telling what he'd have you say—that man is a right bastard."

Ron laughed softly, but the anxiety was still clear in his features. "Yeah, seemed a bit greasy, didn't he? I definitely don't trust him. I heard about the way he went after Hermione at Narcissa's trial."

Hermione tensed, her eyes glued to the table. "He'd do anything for a conviction; he doesn't care who has to take down in the process."

"I got the impression that he's really pulling out all the stops for this next go. You might—you should…just, tell Malfoy to be prepared, yeah?"

Hermione nodded. "Thank you, Ron."

Harry smiled at his two best friends. "Right, well. It's supposed to be a lovely day, who's up for Hogsmeade? I've got a craving for Honeydukes."

Everyone agreed, and they were soon apparating to Hogsmeade outside the Three Broomsticks for a morning spent shopping, talking, and laughing, the earlier tension easily forgotten in the nostalgic setting.

***

Hermione and Harry appeared in the lane outside Malfoy manor with a soft 'crack'. Harry released her arm, peering curiously at the massive hedge lining the property. Having heard Hermione take in an unsteady breath, he took her hand in his, giving a reassuring squeeze when he felt her trembling.

Hand-in-hand, they followed the lane to the large, formidable black iron gates. Hermione reached for the bell, ringing twice before the bars of the gates melted away just as they had before, permitting them entrance to the grounds.

Hermione could just make out the grand front door opening and Narcissa coming down the front steps, walking down the long drive to meet them.

"Alright, Hermione?"

She nodded in response to Harry's soft-spoken question, unable to tear her eyes away from the manor. Harry started forward in slow, steady steps, his hand never leaving hers. She trailed behind, her breath coming shallower and harsher with every step, her legs feeling weak and unsteady. Harry looked back, concern written in the lines of his brow. He turned around to face her while walking backward along the drive.

"Look at me, Mione. Don't look ahead, look at me. I'm with you."

She tried focusing on his vivid green eyes, but the manor was slowly filling up her field of vision behind him, seeming to swallow them both with its enormity. She was shaking hard now, tears forming, filling her eyes and blurring her vision when she heard Cissa approach them.

"Hermione, Harry, thank you for coming! Oh dear, Hermione?" Hermione couldn't see clearly enough to focus on her face, but could just make out Cissa's long blonde hair swirling around her shoulders in the light breeze.

Harry gripped her shoulders, bringing her in close so he was all she could see. "We're almost there, Mione. Narcissa's here, I'm here, you're safe. It's okay."

She nodded, blinking away the tears and clearing her vision. "I-I'm okay. If I can just make it inside…"

Cissa walked to her side, hooking one arm around hers. "Are you sure, dear?"

Hermione nodded, and Harry and Cissa exchanged a look before leading her forward again. Hermione kept from falling apart, though she couldn't keep her limbs from shaking or stop the silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

She slowly made it down the drive and up the steps to the huge, black doors with the gentle assistance of Cissa and Harry. Harry smiled encouragingly at her as Cissa moved to swing the doors inward, and the three of them walked through and into Malfoy manor together.

Once inside, Hermione looked to her right, catching a view of the parlor. Her vision clouded over in a flash of white, and the memory of pain assaulted her senses so completely that she slumped to the ground in a dead faint, deaf to the anxious cries and questions of her companions.

***

Draco sat quietly in his cell, reading the latest literary offering from Hermione, _Havemercy_. It was another muggle book about wizards, though this one included huge mechanical dragons used in magical combat. Draco was a bit in love with it, actually.

The door to his cell swung open, and his mother came into view, carrying Hermione's picnic basket. Draco smiled up at her, but his expression quickly fell when he saw the worry in her eyes. She came and sat next to him on the cot, kissing his cheek and smoothing his hair.

"Good evening, Mother. Is everything alright? Where's Hermione?"

"I sent her home; she wasn't feeling well. She'll be here tomorrow morning, along with Barrister Waverly. Your trial is fast approaching, and you'll need to review your case."

Draco sensed she was omitting some important information and pressed her until she told him about Hermione fainting at the manor. He was tense as she described Hermione's reactions, and when Narcissa described the way Hermione cried out in pain before collapsing, he jerked up off the cot to pace the small space, his hands threading anxiously through his hair.

"That's it, Mother. I don't want her going back there."

"I agree, dear. I think she'll get over it in time, so there's no sense in torturing herself this way, but I'm not going to forbid her from coming. She seems pretty determined to face this, and I have to let her do what she thinks is best."

"I know, I just wish she'd let this go."

"Well, I have a feeling she's going to be a bit distracted with all of the preparation for your trial. And after, you can tackle it together."

"Mother…" Draco paused, sitting beside her again and reaching for her arm, drawing her attention away from the picnic basket she was busy unpacking. "I know you think I'll come out of this alright, but I just feel like you need to be prepared for the worst. We don't know what's going to happen."

"Draco, don't." Troubled, icy blue eyes met his. "You can't ask me to prepare for or accept anything but a long and happy life for my only son. I won't."

"But Mother, what if the wizengamot—"

"No. Whatever happens, we won't give up—we'll fight. You're all I've got, Draco. I will do everything in my power to protect you, as I should have done the moment this mess started up again."

Draco took her hand, wishing he could clear away the guilt clouding her eyes. "You can't blame yourself, Mother. I know you tried to protect me."

"Yes, well. I didn't do a very good job of it, did I?"

"You did the best you could. None of this is your fault.

Narcissa shook her head, absently wiping away a stray tear. "Tell me, Draco, just when exactly did you grow up? I feel like I missed it."

He pulled her forward into a comfortable embrace, softly patting her golden hair. "Me too, Mother. Me too."

***

Hermione woke from a particularly vicious nightmare, a vivid retelling of her night in Malfoy Manor, gasping harshly in the darkness. She quickly found herself in a firm embrace, gentle hands rubbing soothing circles on her back, a low voice whispering comforting platitudes and soothing murmurs.

As her eyes adjusted, she could make out the features of her Grimmauld Place bedroom. Confused, she struggled to recall the events of the afternoon.

"Wh-where…"

"It's alright, Mione, you're home." The familiar voice shocked her into full consciousness, and she pulled back to stare up into concerned, blue eyes.

"Ron? What are you…"

"Harry told me what happened at Malfoy Manor today. I was worried, so I've been waiting for you to wake up. How are you feeling?"

"I…fine, I suppose. I don't really remember what happened. Did I pass out?"

"Something like that, yeah." Ron's voice sounded strained as he raised a hand to gently brush a lock of hair out of her face.

"Oh. What time is it?"

"After ten."

"Oh bloody hell—why didn't anyone wake me?"

"Hermione…" His voice took on the familiar exasperated tone he'd always used when he felt she was being unreasonable. The memory of it brought an involuntary smile to her face. "You scared Harry and Mrs. Malfoy half to death. Is it so much to ask for you to take an afternoon off?"

"But, I was supposed to meet…" She let her voice trail off, not really wanting to tell Ron who she was supposed to meet.

"Mrs. Malfoy went to see Draco, I'm sure she told him all about it. Don't worry, Mione. Just rest, okay?"

She nodded, leaning back against the soft pillows. "How long have you been here, Ron?"

She could barely see him shrug. "Few hours. Not that long, really."

Hermione reached out, taking his hand in hers and giving it a soft squeeze. "Thank you."

He squeezed back, but did not release it, instead rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. "Go back to sleep, Mione."

Slowly, her body relaxed, her mind at ease, her hand secure in the warm grasp of a friend, she fell back asleep, untouched by fear and untroubled by memory.

**A/N: Okay, so it's been quite a while between updates for this thing. I'm sorry—I've been both distracted (working on two other fics at the moment) and particularly uninspired by this story, BUT, I ****will**** finish it. I've already written the ending, I just have to get the story there.**

**So yeah. Don't give up on me! *insert inspirational music***


	20. Chapter Nineteen: His Best Hope

Disclaimer: I think we've all realized by now that if I were indeed responsible for Harry Potter et al, the series would never have been completed.

**A/N: Oh sweet baby Jebus, I'm actually updating Guilt! It's a miracle! Or, you know, something moderately unlikely, but exciting none-the-less. Wanna hear something shocking? 164 users have this story on alert, and 103 have favorited it. I wonder how many of those people actually remember what it's about? Hmm. Curious. **

Chapter Nineteen: His Best Hope

Draco anxiously paced his cell, frantic gray eyes darting to the heavy wooden door with each turn he made. Having neither watch nor window, he had no way of determining the time other than his own fairly unreliable internal clock, but he reasoned that the time for Hermione's visit must surely be approaching. He'd spent the morning thinking about her recent visit to the Manor and worrying over the severity of the attack she experienced there, so much so that he had finally abandoned his attempts at reading and succumbed to the restless pacing his body craved in her absence.

When the door finally swung open, he sighed in acute relief before pulling Hermione into his arms the second her familiar head of unruly hair entered the room, a quietly amused Waverly following close behind. Hermione was caught off guard by his sudden embrace and mumbled something unintelligible against his chest, spurring him to loosen his hold so she could speak audibly.

"Draco, what's wrong?"

He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up for his examination, scrutinizing every line and shadow as though the truth of her well-being was written in code upon them. "I heard about what happened yesterday, are you alright? I've been so worried."

Hermione's cheeks colored both in embarrassment over her episode and in response to the intensity of his gaze. "I-I'm fine; it was silly, really. I had a nice long rest yesterday, and I feel perfectly well, today."

"Hm." Draco continued his study of her face, noting with relief that her eyes did look less tired than the last time he'd seen her. Their exchange was interrupted by the tactful throat-clearing of Barrister Waverly, who was standing awkwardly by the now closed door, her eyes focused down on her notepad.

Hermione's head snapped around at the sound. "Oh, so sorry, Barrister!"

The older witch smiled fondly at Hermione. "No worries, dear, but perhaps we'd better begin discussing the trial? Our time is growing rather short."

They spent the rest of the morning going over the list of testimonies they would present on Draco's behalf, starting with Narcissa, then Hermione, Harry, and finally ending with Draco's own testimony. They discussed Ron's conversation with Barrister Hannah and the impact his story could have on the trial. It seemed that most of Draco's activities after sixth year could not be proven directly, and were lacking willing witnesses to condemn him. However, his repeated attempts on Dumbledore's life were another matter. While it had never been proven that Draco was behind the cursed necklace and poisoned mead that nearly claimed the lives of Katie Bell and Ron, they had no doubts that Hannah would use them in court. The fact that he came so close to unintentionally killing two minors was going to make it exceptionally difficult to gain sympathy from the wizengamot.

The atmosphere in Draco's cell was feeling rather bleaker than it had the day before. Draco and Hermione sat together on the cot, hands held in silent contemplation while Waverly packed away her materials.

She paused halfway into fastening her satchel and eyed the couple cautiously. "Mr. Malfoy…Draco, there is another possible course of action you might consider."

"What? What else is there?"

She cleared her throat, focusing her eyes on her hands. "The atmosphere right now, social and political, is very different than it was during the war. People are tired of the old, secretive way our government was used to functioning. There's been more and more movement towards transparency. Openness. People want the truth, but their trust doesn't come easily. They want proof."

Hermione tightened her hold on Draco's hand, emitting a small "Oh."

Draco cast a puzzled look from Hermione to Waverly and back. "What do you mean?"

Waverly cleared her throat before continuing. "You're aware, I'm sure, that the forceful use of veritaserum in a criminal trial has been unlawful for more than a century now." She watched Draco nod once before pausing, his eyes widening with realization. "They can't _make_ you take it, but you could volunteer. Voluntary use of veritaserum would garner huge favor with the wizengamot. It eliminates all doubt."

Hermione and Draco remained silent as they processed this information, so Waverly continued. "It's a gamble. Hannah can't _prove_ much of his case, but he doesn't necessarily _have_ to, does he? If he can make you look bad enough in front of the court, they'll convict you regardless. Taking the veritaserum would prove to the court several things. First, that you're not hiding. If you can openly admit everything you've done, you have a real chance to express genuine remorse. And they'll believe you. Without it, you can go in there and express heartfelt regret and noble intentions until you're blue in the face, and all Hannah has to do is call you a liar."

Hermione squeezed Draco's hand. "It's the one way of guaranteeing that they'll really hear you."

"But you have to mean it. If there's even a hint of anti-muggle sentiment or Death Eater support, he'll find it. And it'll all be over."

Draco swallowed nervously. "If I take it, you'll both question me, then? You and Hannah?"

Waverly nodded. "And in these cases, nothing is off limits. He could ask you anything he wants."

Draco blanched at the thought. He'd said, done, and even thought an awful lot that he wasn't proud of. He couldn't imagine confessing all of it to the wizarding world—a world that already hated him on principle. They'd eat him alive.

"I wouldn't even suggest it if I felt confident that we could win without it."

Hermione looked sharply at Waverly. "You don't think we'll win?"

"I honestly don't know." Waverly paused, breathing deeply. "Draco can't claim innocence based on actions. As far as actions and physical evidence are concerned, he's guilty. His innocence lies in the motivation behind those actions. And, most importantly, where he plans to go from here. Intent is everything. If we can make the wizengamot see him as a scared kid who made a mistake, but who's also willing to spend the rest of his life making up for it, they'll want to give him that chance. We just have to make them _see_."

Draco nodded, looking pained but thoughtful. "Can I just…think about it?"

"Of course. Tomorrow is our last day to prepare; I'll be here in the morning and we can discuss this further. For now, I need to go and speak with your other witnesses, just in case."

Hermione stood to see Waverly off, leaving Draco to stare pensively at the wall. She stood a moment by the closed door, watching his face, trying to decipher the thoughts behind his frozen expression.

"What are you thinking?"

Draco let out a tired sigh. "I'm thinking the veritaserum may be my best chance."

Hermione again sat beside him, threading warm fingers through his. "But?"

"But I can't imagine being so vulnerable, just willingly offering myself and all my secrets up to be scrutinized by a group of people who already hate me. The idea is, quite frankly, terrifying."

"But who really cares what those people think?"

"Well, seeing as how they're quite literally holding my life in their hands with this decision…"

Hermione nudged him sharply. "That's not what I meant. How much of this is you worrying what everyone will think of you, of what you've done?"

Draco shrugged, his eyes trained down at their folded hands. "I'm not like you, Hermione. You've never seemed bothered by what anyone thought—you always do what you think is right, no matter the cost. That's not me; that's _never_ been me. For years, I did as I was told, listening to all the wrong people, working for their favor, and this is where it's gotten me."

Hermione rested her head on his shoulder, letting him work up a bit to what was really bothering him.

"It's not really even about everyone else, though. I…I'm afraid of what will happen once you've heard everything. I don't want you to go back to hating me again, but I'm sure that bastard Hannah will pull out all the stops. I'm not proud of the things I've done…"

"Draco…" Hermione gently turned him to face her, smoothing soft hair away from troubled gray eyes. "I never hated you, and I never could. I know what you've done. Maybe not the intimate details, but I get the general idea. I also know that's not _you_. You have to know that, no matter what happens with this trial, it's not going to change how I feel about you. I _love_ you, Draco."

Draco looked hard at Hermione, searching her face for hidden truths before replying in a soft, broken voice, "_Why_?"

Hermione, not knowing what to say, just pulled him to her, pressing her lips softly against his and wrapping her arms around him.

oOo

Draco spent the majority of that night pacing in his cell. He forced himself to think over his actions, his past, stripping away all of his self-preserving blockades in search of the honest truth at the heart of things. He considered questions he might come up against, wondering how he'd answer, knowing that his own answers just might take even him by surprise. Draco had lied to a lot of people in his life, but none so much as himself.

He'd never been one for introspection; never felt the need to question his actions, his motives. He'd never wanted to look too closely, afraid of what he might see. Afraid he'd see someone cold and ruthless. Someone without remorse, without feeling. He was afraid he'd see a Death Eater.

Draco had lived his life as a bully—selfish, cowardly, cruel. Was that who he was, truly? Was there more to him than the awful things he'd done? Hermione thought so, but how could she? He'd treated her worse than anyone, knowing she'd never deserved it.

He continued his internal questioning well into the night, going back and forth looking for the truth at the base of it all. Finally, mentally and physically exhausted, he came to the only conclusion that made any sense.

He'd take the veritaserum. He would face his demons head on, for once in his miserable life. He would spill his soul before the court, and let them make an honest judgement, placing his life in their hands. He would tell the truth, and let the world sort out his guilt. And if, by some miracle, Hermione loved him still, he could start to believe he actually deserved it.


End file.
